


A Girl Called Mouse

by EpitomyofShyness



Series: For Want of a Mouse [1]
Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Death, Child Death, Ensemble Cast, Families of Choice, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Growing Up, Parenthood, Platonic Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 18:33:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 81,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23371726
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EpitomyofShyness/pseuds/EpitomyofShyness
Summary: As the CDC's final days approach, Edwin Jenner finds himself responsible for the life of a mute orphan. With suicide off the table, he needs to find a way to keep her alive, even if that means tagging along with the people he nearly murdered.
Series: For Want of a Mouse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1931011
Comments: 149
Kudos: 66





	1. Too Little

**Author's Note:**

> Enormous thanks and gratitude to WalkingIvy, IncarnateFirefly, and AlleycatAngst, without all of whom I would not be the writer I am today. All three of them are fantastic writers, check them out! Special shout out to WalkingIvy who has helped me enormously in cleaning up my outline so that I felt solid about the direction this story will take and how to get there.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenner saves a life.

_"It's like I'm the only one who's even trying anymore!"_

_As Candace paces away, Edwin draws a knee up to his chest. His back aches with every muscle twitch, the hard carpeting digging through his rumpled slacks. There is more than one chair in his wife’s office, but he doesn’t feel like he deserves to sit in them. After all, he can’t say that Candace is wrong._

_“People are dying!”_

_Candace’s cheeks flush with anger, her expression filled with a drive he can’t hope to match. Her hair has been pulled into a frazzled bun, and the lines across her forehead are stark. There are dark bruises underneath her eyes. She hardly sleeps anymore. Her lips are cracked, sweat shimmering on her forehead from a fever that won’t come down._

_“Oh, God…” Edwin drops his forehead onto his knee, his chest tight with despair. “Please, no…”_

_“Do you even care?!”_

Edwin jerks upright. His eyes bulge, and his heart pounds. He isn’t in Candace’s office. He’s sitting at a desk in the main computer room. An alarm blares throughout the facility, each shriek digging further into his skull until he can’t breathe. He reaches for the off switch with a trembling hand, when he sees the live feed of the blockaded entrance. 

There’s a little girl standing in front of the main door. 

He stands up, swaying so hard that he has to grab the desk to keep from falling. Her hair hangs in a pale waterfall around slim shoulders. His hands clench, throat tightening with panic. He feels hot all over, his heartbeat throbbing in his ears.

“No…” Edwin slumps, tears burning his eyes. “Go away.” He can still feel little toes curling against his fingers. “You’re not real…”

When he looks up, the girl is still there. Her hair is not the blond he saw a heartbeat ago, it's dark on the colorless security camera. He can’t tell how old she is from the monitor, but he’d guess around nine or ten, more fluffy curls than anything else. She’s sobbing so hard in between banging on the door that she chokes on each breath. If the infected aren’t already following her, they’ll be drawn by the noise. She’ll be torn apart long before he reaches the entrance.

Edwin lunges away from the desk, cold sweat breaking out across his skin. The chilled air of the CDC whips across his face as he sprints up the ramp and down the hall that leads to the elevator. His automatic rifle hangs on a hook beside it, untouched since his last trip above. After Candace’s death, he hadn’t ever planned to use it again. Edwin is glad he didn’t bother putting it away as he slings it over his shoulder. 

He rushes inside the elevator, shouting for VI to take him to the top floor. As the doors slide shut and VI responds with an affirmative, Edwin slumps against the railing. He knows that he needs to get his breathing under control or he won’t be able to aim with any accuracy. He could already be too late. Maybe he’ll get there just in time to watch a little girl be ripped to shreds. When he swallows, saliva slides thick down the back of his throat.

The moment the elevator opens, Edwin sprints across the lobby. He stops just long enough to input the door code and lifts the gun into position. The security door slides up in a rush, and sunlight blinds him. The smell hits him next, and despite working regularly with bodies, refrigerated flesh cannot compare to organs, skin, and viscera left to bake under the sun for days on end.

As the glare clears from his eyes, Edwin’s gaze drops to the child before him. Her skin is a warm russet, her hair a dark brown, her round face smudged with sweat and dirt. They stare at one another in shocked silence. Before Edwin can find his voice, she turns away, taking a step back towards the field of bodies the military left in its wake. A woman with dark brown skin is there, her elegant features mirrored in her daughter’s face. An enormous herd follows close on her heels.

“No!” Edwin reaches forward, catching the edge of the child’s shirt. “Get inside!”

She wails, twisting in his grip as he struggles to drag her back. The middle-aged woman limps faster despite the agony twisting across her face. Blood pounds in Edwin’s ears as he drags the child back against his chest. She thrashes harder, his grip starts to slip, and with a bellow he heaves her inside the CDC. 

He lifts his gun as he turns, gritting his teeth while he tries to pick out a target. It’s hard to aim with precision when using an assault rifle. They are good when fighting humans, but not so great when anything but a head shot is a waste of a bullet.

The woman stumbles.

They swarm her before he can blink away the sweat stinging his eyes. Her screams break through the ringing in Edwin’s ears. His throat tightens, pain raking through his chest as he lifts the gun. Bullets spray across the growing pile of infected. Her shrieks cut off, but the dead are still coming, swiftly approaching the main doors.

Edwin steps back, reaching out to the side and pressing the button to shut the doors. They slam down, closing him and the little girl inside. The roar of the dead is muted, and as Edwin’s adrenaline crashes, he sinks to his knees.

The girl gets to her feet. She stares at the closed doors, her expression empty. Edwin looks away as she walks over to them, resting one hand against the metal. After a minute, she crouches, shifting to lay down on the cold floor without saying a word.

“I’m… I’m sorry…” Edwin whispers, reluctantly looking up. She doesn’t respond.

He hangs his head, tears burning in his eyes. He wants to lie down like she has. He’s so tired.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there. She doesn’t make a sound, her fingers still pressed against the door. The infected bang their broken limbs against the shutters, and there’s a chance whatever is left of her mother is staggering up right now. Maybe they left enough muscle for her to scrape bloodied fingers across unyielding steel, the only thing protecting her little girl from a similar fate.

He lifts his head slowly and looks at the child in front of him. With a quiet sigh, he climbs to his feet, moving over so he can crouch down and stroke her shoulder. His shaking hand steadies the longer he traces his fingers over her tiny body. She doesn’t respond to the touch, but the warmth of her reminds him that she’s alive. He doesn’t want to be, and he can’t see why she would want to be, either, but she is. She wouldn’t be if he hadn’t…

“Come on,” he says. “We need to go downstairs. They’ll leave if we aren’t up here.”

Eventually, Edwin lifts the limp girl up, cradling her against his chest. Her head rests on his shoulder, lashes flickering against the side of his neck. Her breath comes in small, warm puffs as the elevator carries them back down into the cold depths of the earth.

“My name is Dr. Edwin Jenner,” he tells her, rubbing his fingers in the dip at the base of her back in a comforting gesture he’d used many times with his own daughter.

When she doesn’t respond, he continues by asking her for her name. She doesn’t tell him. In fact, she doesn’t say a single word to him, not as he carries her to the infirmary, not as he reluctantly checks her over for cuts and bites. He doesn’t know what he’ll do if she’s been bitten.

All he finds are scrapes and bruises, along with a fine dusting of glass shards that glitter amongst her many freckles. He sits her up on the medical bed and runs a washcloth over her from head to toe, then cleans out the scrapes with alcohol wipes.

“Sorry,” he apologises when she flinches. “I know it stings, but we wouldn’t want you to get an infection, would we?”

She tilts her head up, although she’s careful not to look at his face. Fresh tears drip in steady streams down her cheeks. She doesn’t make a sound.

“Ah…” Edwin swallows and looks away. He needs to get back to his work. He’s wasting time. This is— This is bigger than either of them. 

“Are you hungry?” he asks. The girl shakes her head. “Okay, well, you could lay down if you like? We have couches, blankets…”

She nods. He comes over to the table, helping her down. He’s struck by just how small she is, her head barely reaching above his ribs. Little fingers reach up to hold onto his lab coat, clutching with an iron grip. He freezes in place, looking down and expecting smooth, blond locks. He finds dark brown curls, and the wrongness of it makes his eyes sting.

They shut the dorm rooms down early on to try and conserve power. The recreation area, however, has several different rooms set aside for privacy; areas to relax with lots of couches. He and Candace dug a cot out of storage, not that she ever slept in it. She’d go days without proper rest; he found her passed out at her desk all the time. What little she ate he brought her, and if it hadn’t been for the bathroom close by her office he wonders if she would have even remembered to drink water. He didn’t understand her obsession, not until the end. Now it's him who doesn’t sleep, who never eats. He keeps himself awake using anything available, and he works.

Edwin leads the girl to the rec area, avoiding the room he and Candace shared. He picks a smaller room with a decently sized couch and a table. There are blankets folded up on the shelves, and he grabs one to cover her.

She sits on the couch, staring at the far wall. Edwin settles on the coffee table, pulling her feet up and undoing her shoe laces. He sets each shoe to the side, tugging off her socks and placing them within her shoes so they won’t get lost.

“Get some rest, okay?” He grabs a pillow and eases her down into the cushions, tucking the blanket up over her shoulders. With a tight smile, he stands to leave.

“Nnn…”

Edwin stops, staring as the child’s face twists with grief. She squirms until one of her arms comes free, and reaches forward with a trembling hand. Her shoulders hunch, tears running so fast that they drip off her chin.

Candace gave birth in the spring, to the quietest baby Edwin had ever seen. Where most children shriek their little lungs out when they come into the world, their child lay silent in his arms, her pale eyes alight with curiosity as she took in her surroundings. He had cradled her close, cupping that bald head with an awestruck smile, and knew that he would never love anything as much as her.

A sob brings him back to the present, hands too brown, hair too dark, and skin thick with freckles. The eyes staring up at him are wide, their green standing out against the reddened background.

“Okay,” Edwin whispers. He walks over on unsteady feet, sitting down on the couch with a thud. The girl kicks the blanket away, crawling over so she can collapse with her head on his thigh. Her hand comes up to grip his leg, digging in with the strength of grief-stricken desperation. He pulls the blanket up from the floor, tucking it back over her body and rubbing a hand across her shaking shoulders. 

She falls asleep eventually, fingers relaxing and then going limp. Edwin strokes her hair and closes his eyes, tears burning in the corners. His lips tug into an unwanted smile, and he has to breathe deeply to hold in sobs. With a shudder, he slumps against the couch, staring at the ceiling with bloodshot eyes. The air conditioner whirs in his ears, a cushion of white noise to ease the quiet.

He wishes he could pretend that this was before, that he was at home, and it was his daughter nestled against his side. They’d sprawl out on lazy Saturday mornings, throw the TV on and watch cartoons. Sometimes, Charlotte would fall back asleep, and Edwin would turn the TV off. He’d lay there with his little girl, stroking silvery-blond hair and watching her face twitch with dreams.

The girl he saved isn’t Charlotte. The two girls couldn’t look less alike, and yet it feels so similar. It’s a deep desire to stretch this moment out for eternity. He’d felt this way before, when the world wasn’t falling apart, but it’s also strangely new. For the first time in his life, there are no new moments ahead in which he might feel proud, content or loved. There’s nothing to look forward to anymore, besides pain. 

Eventually, he drifts back to sleep, his body too tired to stay awake despite his protests. He dreams every time his eyes slide shut, his tormented mind treating him to images of his loved ones dead and dying. Even so, those dreams aren’t the worst. The worst are the ones where he saves them, because even as he clings to them he can feel wakefulness tugging on every limb. As soon as his eyes blink open, they’ll be gone. Tonight, there is a new figure.

That umber-skinned woman, with near-black eyes that glint with despair. She stands on train tracks, a shrill whistle ringing in Edwin’s ears. He waves his arms, screaming and begging for her to move, ‘ _God, please,_ _don’t make me watch you die._ ’ She smiles, something achingly sad in her gaze, a look that says, ‘ _I’m so sorry, I wish I could.’_ No, no please, _he can still save her—_

The dream shatters as Edwin jerks upright, gasping for breath. But he’s still dreaming, isn’t he? He can hear the train. The sensation of movement at his side is alarming and unexpected, and he flinches back as his gaze drops down. _What—_

The girl thrashes against him, legs tangled in the blankets. With a curse, he grabs the blanket, wrenching and pulling until her limbs come free. He throws it to the side, easing the trembling child onto her back.

He drops his hand to her damp curls, stroking them off her face. She whimpers, quivering against him as tears drip from tightly closed eyes. Her little fingers reach up, seizing hold of his sleeve.

What does he say to her? He can't say that it's okay, can't say that she's okay. She isn’t. He isn't. No one is.

“I’m here.”

Green eyes blink open, squinting up at him through tears that won’t stop. For the first time she looks at him head on, something searching in her gaze. It lasts for less than a heartbeat then with a wail she rolls over scrambling into his lap and throwing her arms around his neck.

Edwin wraps his own around her on instinct. The slight weight of a child sitting on his lap, the warmth of a body trembling against his chest, even the wet cheek rubbing against his neck, it's a relief. He clutches her tightly, dropping his head down to her shoulder and letting out a shaky breath.

“I’m here, baby.” His voice cracks, fingers digging into thick curls where he wants soft, flowing locks. “I’m here.”

They sit on the couch tangled around one another, until Edwin gives in to the need to relax. He eases onto his back with her sprawled over his chest and she stays clinging to him, her face hidden against his throat, arms gripping with what little strength they have.

As he strokes her quivering shoulders, Edwin reflects that he still doesn’t know her name. One glance at her face tells him she’s unlikely to share. Still, he should ask.

“Sweetie.” He reaches up to massage the back of her neck. “Can you tell me your name?” He doesn’t press her when she tenses up, trembling harder and not saying a word. “Okay. It’s okay.”

He needs to call her something. He closes his eyes as he tries to think past the fog of hunger and exhaustion weighing down his head. Her body is a reassuring weight, familiar and pleasant, even with the tears. She’s such a tiny thing. 

"Mouse," he whispers, drawing back and looking down into a confused expression. He gives her a tired smile. "You're too little to be a lab rat."

The girl’s confusion fades, eyes widening. A smile flickers on her lips, followed up with a sharp giggle. Edwin stares at her in disbelief, his chest tightening with something hot and painful as she lets go of his arm to give him a thumbs up.

"Mouse," he repeats the name, bringing both of his hands up to brush over her cheeks. She leans into the touch, that small smile still flickering on her lips despite the tears, despite having to— to watch— _to see—_

“I’m going to take care of you,” he promises, cupping her cheeks and leaning forward to press their foreheads together. “I’m going to take care of you, Mouse.”

* * *

“How old are you?”

After that first grueling day, they fell into a comfortable pattern. She still hasn’t spoken, not a single word, but she clings to him with a desperation typically reserved for parents, and Edwin greedily accepts every touch. They eat together, sleep curled against one another, and he spends every moment he can lavishing her with all the attention he can spare. 

He asks the question over vanilla yogurt, the spoon hovering halfway to her mouth. Mouse freezes, her eyes widening and her breath hitching in her throat. She isn’t mute, at least, he doesn’t think so. Not physically, anyway. She giggles and screams from the nightmares. He can’t be sure if it's a result of her recent trauma, or perhaps merely an ongoing symptom of some other condition. Either way, they do their best to work around it.

“Show me on your hands?” he suggests, reaching over to stroke between her tensed shoulders. “I’ll eat an extra bite if you do.”

He knows that he’s probably reinforcing bad habits, but she's a little underweight for her height and it's just easier to persuade her to eat by pairing it up with him taking care of his own health. She always looks so worried when he goes without.

Mouse shoots a scowl at the spoon, then gives him a long suffering sigh. She forces it into her mouth and swallows before pushing the container back towards him.

Not wanting to make her any more anxious, Edwin pops a subtly sweet spoonful of yogurt into his mouth. He makes himself swallow the lump in his throat, giving Mouse a forced smile.

She fidgets for a moment, her breath coming in quick bursts. With another grimace, she lifts stiff hands, holding out all eight fingers and two thumbs widespread. After a moment, she drops all but two fingers down.

“You’re twelve?” Edwin asks, surprise lacing his tone. She nods quickly, her shoulders slumping as she pushes out a heavy breath.

“I wouldn’t have guessed.” He pops another spoonful of yogurt into his mouth, grinning when he sees a smile flicker on her lips.

Seeing her smile is enough to push away the apathy graying out Edwin’s mind. It’s hard to work, hard to focus when all he wants to do is lay down and sleep. Mouse has become a reason to get up and stay up. Nowadays, he has to take care of her and himself before working on the cure. Being away from her is hard on both of them, but it isn’t safe in the lab.

He should have known it would never last.

Edwin’s hair is still wet from the decontamination shower, his fresh clothing clinging to his damp skin. As he sits down in front of his computer, he turns the camera on before staring at the little blinking light. He needs to say something. For some reason, he doesn’t want to, as if saying it will make it real, rather than just one more nightmare.

“The TS-19 samples are gone.” His voice comes out flat. “The tragedy of their loss cannot be overstated.” An unopened bottle of wine catches his eye, sitting beside the monitor. He left it there, the day before Mouse arrived. He grabs the bottle and the wineglass beside it.

“Those were the freshest samples I had,” he adds, taking a long drink. The bitter aftertaste lingers on his tongue. “None of... None of the other samples come close. They’re just… dead flesh. Necrotic.”

He pauses to consider the screen. “Don’t know why I’m talking, anyway,” he says as he swirls the wine. “It’s not like there’s anyone listening, is there?”

Silence echoes back at him, the soft hum of machinery the only response. Edwin snorts, draining the glass as he pushes himself up.

“Fine,” he tells the computer. “Just saves me the embarrassment. I think, tomorrow I’m going to blow my brains out—” 

_Mouse._

Edwin’s stomach twists, the alcohol settling harsh into his all but empty insides. With a gasp, he lurches to the side, twisting away from the computer. There’s sweat pouring down his face, and he can’t breathe. He’s going to be sick.

Mouse. What is he— _Mouse—_

He’s a failure. He’s such an absolute failure at everything.

He collapses onto the floor, deep sobs spilling from inside his chest. His world is dead. It died three years ago, but he’s just been limping along, tied to reality by the love he held for his little girl’s mother, and then to the promise he made to a dying woman. He broke it. He failed. _Worthless._

Charlotte wanted to be a scientist working side-by-side with her parents. He thinks she’d have hated it here. His daughter was a free spirit, always up and running around. He doesn’t think he’d have become a virologist if he had known how much he would love his baby. Every hour spent away from her was pure agony.

“I’m sorry…” he whimpers, covering his face and shuddering with sobs. “I’m so sorry…”

A small hand brushes his shoulder. It takes him a heart-pounding moment to recognize Mouse. Even with tear-blurred vision he knows it's her, quietly scurrying around without ever making a sound.

He wants to throw himself into her arms, scream and cry and beg her to make it all stop. God, she's just a baby, so small that he could carry her in one arm. She doesn't deserve any of this. He should be taking care of her, not weeping on the floor.

She holds out a little plastic cup filled with water. There are sinks and cups for water in every room with little signs that proclaim, “Remember, Hydration is Healthy!” and other such trite slogans. He wants to laugh and scream and cry and beg her to never leave him, but he can’t do that, can he? Because he’s doomed her, in a day or so, she’s going to…

He takes the cup with a trembling hand, forcing himself up into a sitting position and drinking slowly. He gives her a tight smile that cracks halfway through. The plastic crumples in his grip and with a choked cry he spreads his arms. He just wants to hold her, to remind himself that she’s not gone yet, that she’s still here, that they both are.

She recoils back, eyes wide and uncertain. He drops his arms, tries to apologize through the tears. She’s a child, she shouldn’t have to comfort him.

_He’s worthless._

Mouse climbs onto his lap. Her arms lock around his chest, and her cheek presses against the front of his shirt. He isn't the only one in pain, the only one crying. Tears roll down her face, and he just wants to make it go away. He wants to make everything go away. Edwin doesn't know what that means and the thought scares him.

"I'm sorry," he whimpers, grabbing the back of her head, twisting his fingers into thick curls. "I'm so sorry. I... I couldn't. I wasn't fast enough. I should have been paying attention. I... I'm so stupid."

His lips press to the center of her forehead, and he breaks completely, devolving into senseless crying and murmurs of, ‘ _I'm sorry, I'm stupid, I hate myself.’_ She shouldn't have to hear it. Her mother should be the one holding her.

She starts squirming in his grip. Edwin tightens his arms at first, terrified of letting her go. He relents in the end, because keeping her close when she has every right to hate him isn’t just selfish, it's wrong. He lets his arms fall, choking as he slumps down in utter despair.

Small hands seize each side of his face. He blinks in shock, staring up into equally tear-filled eyes. With a frustrated gasp, she bends down to press chapped lips to his forehead. He sits there in silence, shaking as she snuggles down and buries her face back into his neck. With a whimper, he wraps back around her, holding tight and sobbing into her thick hair. ‘ _I’m so sorry.’_

The proximity alarm goes off.

Edwin flinches, tightening his grip on Mouse until she squirms, a pained whine escaping her lips. It’s just the infected, it has to be. There’s no one left alive out there, Mouse was a fluke, a miracle, and he failed—

_“There’s nobody here!”_

The voice comes over the radio, distorted and crackling. Mouse jumps in his arms, her eyes wide with alarm. Edwin doesn’t move, he just sits there shaking his head. No, it can’t be, _please._

_“Then why are these shutters down?”_

The group, it must be a group, bursts into an argument that the radio catches bits and pieces of. “ _Walkers!”_ Someone shouts in warning. “ _This is a dead end,”_ says another and it’s soon followed by, _“Where are we gonna go?”_

“Anywhere else,” Edwin whispers, running a hand down Mouse’s back. “Anywhere else, please…”

Mouse thrashes in his lap and with another choked sob Edwin lets her go. He doesn’t want to, but he’d never force her to stay if she needed space. He couldn’t do that to her, he—

She scrambles up, grabbing his arm and pulling. He looks at her in confusion, his gaze finally drifting to the monitor beside them. He shakes his head, trying to turn away. He can’t bring them down here and doom them, like he did with her.

 _“Rick, there's nobody here!”_ A woman speaks this time, her voice thick with fear.

 _“Please,”_ one of the men from before says, his voice close to breaking. _“We're desperate. Please, help us. We have women, children, no food, hardly any gas left.”_

“Just go away,” Edwin gasps, doubling over and curling in on himself. Mouse jerks on his arm harder, then abruptly lets go.

_“If you don't let us in, you're killing us! Please!”_

“I’m sorry,” Edwin whimpers, digging his fingers into his scalp. “I can’t. I’m— I can’t—”

_“You're killing us! You're—”_

Mouse screams wordlessly, her hands returning to grab at his wrist. She pulls as hard as she can, unable to so much as budge him. Her breath is taken in deep, panicked sobs like that first night when her mother…

Edwin scrambles to his feet. His fingers fly across the keyboard, typing in commands. She tried to do it herself, but she didn’t have the right code to deactivate security. Candace gave him everything before she died. He’s the only one left alive who can make this facility do anything aside from what it was programmed to.

“Stay here,” he orders, rushing away from the monitor as VI counts down. “I’ll be back!”

He dashes down the hallway, heart hammering in his throat. This is insanity. There’s nothing for them here.

 _“You’re killing us!”_

Yes. He is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is an odd premise centered around an OC and a character who appeared for two episodes in Season 1 and then suicided by Big Boom. If this at all interests you please join me for this wild ride. Any and all thoughts and feedback is appreciated as long as its politely worded, including critique.
> 
> If you aren't sure what to say, here is some inspiration; Guesses with Shy, Round One!
> 
> What mental health issues does Mouse have outside of "Saw her mom get torn apart"?
> 
> Which of our Rick & Cos crew will despise Jenner the most? Which least?
> 
> There are no strictly wrong answers, just thought it would be fun to hear what predictions people make and see how it does and does not line up with my plans. For the record, I have a once a week posting schedule planned, if I can't keep it up I'll switch to twice a month but I'm hopeful I can since I have already finished five chapters ahead of where I currently am.


	2. We're It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shane is distrustful, Jenner is awkward and depressed, and Mouse cries.

Shane pulls at Rick’s arms, desperation lending him the strength needed to finally wrestle his best friend away from the closed shutters. He pushes his anger down, focused on pulling Rick towards the cars and the scattered members of their group whose faces shine pale with fear. 

“You’re killing us!” Rick howls, tears bright in his eyes. Shane only just stops himself from snarling what everyone is thinking. Some fucking imaginary man isn’t killing them, Rick is.

The light hits his back before the screeching of metal doors being lifted does. His shadow stretches in front of him, and he comes to a halt at the same moment as his best friend. The others gape at something past them, disbelief bright in their starved faces. Shane whips around, hefting his shotgun and staring at the now opened shutters, revealing glass doors and a brilliantly lit entryway that looks completely untouched by the end of the world.

Shane’s the first to recover. “Alright everybody, let's move! Come on!”

Daryl’s quick to catch on, calling out that he’ll cover the back. T-Dog lingers beside him while Dale ushers Lori, Carl, Carol and Sophia to the middle. Andrea and Jacqui follow with Glenn at their side.

Rick rushes for the opened shutters, barely giving Shane time to cover him as they make their way inside. The smell of death they’ve been struggling to ignore is less pronounced in here, and he can breathe without feeling as though he’s going to throw up. They keep their guns at the ready, slowly moving into the wide open room. Bright lights on the high ceiling illuminate their immediate surroundings: marbled floors, a clean visitors desk. There are no scattered papers, only a fine layer of dust with the occasional scuff mark. Someone has been up here recently.

“Hello?” Rick calls out, and Shane grinds his teeth. They have no idea who is in here, how many, or what their motives are. They could have only opened the fucking doors to shoot them and take their stuff. Rick never thinks this shit through-

“Anybody infected?”

Shane whips his gun up, twisting to face a man with a thin white lab coat around his broad shoulders. He looks to be in his mid-to-late forties and is taller than anyone in their group. He scrutinizes them warily with shadowed eyes, an assault rifle held steady in his hands.

Rick steps forward at once, lowering his shotgun so it’s pointed away from the stranger. Shane keeps his firmly on the man’s chest, eyes narrowed and his finger hovering near the trigger. 

“One of our group was. He didn’t make it.”

“Why are you here? What do you want?” The stranger demands flatly, his words stumbling over one another.

“A chance.” Rick takes another step forward, his expression desperate. 

“That’s asking an awful lot these days.” The man’s expression is empty of pity, fear, or any semblance of emotion. Shane’s grip on his gun tightens. It's just the one man. If Shane shoots first— No, the rest of them must be hiding somewhere. No doubt if Shane kills this man, they’ll be stuck up here with nothing to show for their efforts.

Before Rick can reply, something in the stranger’s expression shifts. He lowers his assault rifle, and Rick lowers his weapon as well. “You all submit to a blood test, that’s the price of admission. You got stuff to bring in, do it now. Once this door closes, it stays closed.”

While Rick thanks the man, Shane turns around gesturing for Daryl, T-Dog, and Glenn to follow him. “Alright, y'all with me. Dale, cover the door!”

It doesn’t take the four of them long to retrieve their bags. They don’t have much. Daryl is the last one in before Dale pulls the doors shut, and they all step back and watch the stranger type on a keypad to shut the metal doors for good.

“Vi,” he says. “Seal the main entrance. Kill the power up here.”

The lights shut off at once. Sophia squeaks, but the darkness doesn’t last. A small light flickers on, illuminating the floor close to the stranger’s feet. He has a flashlight, and he gestures for them to follow him. 

They’re led to a large elevator, but they still have to crowd to fit inside. As the doors slide shut, Rick offers the man his hand and introduces himself.

“Doctor Edwin Jenner,” the stranger responds, his eyes shifting everywhere but Rick’s face.

A round of nervous introductions ensues, followed up with awkward silence. Shane reluctantly slides his shotgun back into its strap, but the tension between his shoulders hasn’t eased one bit. If he’s being honest with himself, he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. He can’t even believe they’re inside, that anyone was here to begin with.

“Doctors always go around packing heat like that?” Daryl asks as he leans against the wall of the elevator. 

“There were plenty left lying around,” Jenner snaps. He hesitates, then coldly continues. “I familiarized myself.”

They emerge into a brightly lit hallway that leads straight forward, with a single door beside the elevator.

“Where does that lead?” Shane asks, adjusting the strap of his bag as they head along. 

“To the stairs,” Jenner says. “But it's a pretty long climb. The elevator’s faster. They’re only for an emergency.”

“We’re underground?” Carol’s voice is tight with tension. 

“Are you claustrophobic?” Jenner glances over his shoulder.

“A little,” Carol admits.

Jenner swiftly faces back to the front and responds, “Try not to think about it.” As they approach the ramp at the end of the hall, he turns away and says,“Vi, bring up the lights in the big room.”

There is a flash of movement at the edge of Shane’s vision. He flinches, reaching for his gun before he registers what he’s looking at. He freezes in place as a tiny figure ducks through the metal railing and throws their arms around the doctor’s chest.

Jenner stops short, crouching to hug the child back just as tightly. She looks nothing like him; her skin is a reddish brown, speckled with freckles all over her face and arms. She huddles against the scientist, her breath coming in choked whimpers. 

“There are other people here?” Dale asks, the old man’s voice tinged with hope.

“Uh…” Jenner shoots them a glance over his shoulder. “No… no, there aren’t.” He turns away and continues toward the rows of computers set up at the fancy and modern-looking desks. The girl stays pressed tight to his side, only giving him space when he hoists her up so she can sit on the desk itself, allowing him to fiddle with the computer in front of him.

“So,” Jacqui says, her voice thick with sarcasm. “You’re telling me that child beside you is a figment of my imagination?”

Jenner pauses, his gaze dropping to the girl. “Oh,” He brings up his hand to grip the child’s shoulder reassuringly. “No, this is— this is Mouse. Uh…” He rubs a hand over his face. “Or, that’s what I’ve been calling her. She doesn’t speak.”

Mouse hides her face in Jenner’s arm. He shifts at once, pulling her into his chest and rubbing her back. Silence falls, the squeak of shoes on the floor and the rustle of their clothes the only sounds. The doctor grimaces and shuffles in place. “Welcome to Zone 5.”

“What do you mean?” Rick steps forward, his expression one of disbelief. “Where are the other doctors, the other staff?”

Shane wants to roll his eyes. He looks away, breathing out hard to keep himself from speaking up. He already knows what Jenner is going to say; it's written all over his face. He loved Rick, he really did, but he was being willfully naive, and it was going to get someone killed. He’d never had cause to doubt Rick’s judgement before, but the man had only woken up from a coma a few days before. He shouldn’t be the one leading their group. 

“It’s just me. Just… us. We’re it.”

“But what about that person you were speaking to? Vi?” Lori speaks up, and Shane can’t help looking at her. Every time he does, it feels like his fucking chest is being ripped open, no morphine, no anesthesia, just hands digging into his ribs and pulling out his heart.

Edwin’s lips twitch into a faint smile. “Vi, say hello to our guests. Tell them, welcome.”

“Hello, Guests. Welcome.” 

A feminine but unmistakably robotic voice rings out. They stand there in silence, no one knowing what to say. Eventually Jenner turns, helping Mouse off the desk as he says, “This way.”

Jenner begins drawing their blood, although testing is delayed when Andrea nearly faints. They’re led to a kitchen next, cupboards bursting with every sort of non-perishable food imaginable. Carl and Sophia are set up with a jar of peanut butter and crackers while the women start cooking, laughter and alcohol flowing freely. Shane grabs himself a glass, but his eyes wander to the doctor, and he finds himself slipping out of the kitchen to follow when he and Mouse vanish.

He’s no detective, but he’s done his fair share of tails before, if he needs to he can be quiet. Jenner heads back to the room where he drew their blood, and Shane hovers outside the door, listening closely as the man babbles to the silent girl. 

“Sorry,” Jenner says, his voice echoing out into the hall. “Got lost in my thoughts. Yeah, gonna test everybody’s blood. It— It doesn’t really matter. I don’t know. Just felt like I had to.”

Shane scowls, irritation flaring in his chest. If it didn’t matter why the hell had he put them through that crap? No one likes getting blood drawn. _Asshole._

It’s quiet for a bit, save for Jenner’s footsteps and the occasional clink of tubes or something being moved around.

“Oh.” Jenner finally says, probably to some gesture the girl made. “Uh, that isn’t necessary.”

Shane wishes he could afford to look into the room. As it is he’s only privy to one half of the conversation, and with a fucking mute girl no less.

“Wait...” Jenner sounds surprised. “Do you want me to test your blood?” Shane guesses from the silence that Mouse is responding. When Jenner speaks again, his tone is fond. “You really are a little Lab Mouse, aren’t you? Come on, let’s get this done.”

It’s silent for so long that Shane nearly leaves. He’s just about to when the doctor’s voice rings out.

“Vi, play some music. Something modern.”

There is a beat of silence, then Vi chimes on over the speakers, “Playing: Broken Radio by Jesse Malin.”

“Don’t laugh,” Jenner says, his voice tender. “I’m pretty rusty.”

The song that plays over the speakers is one Shane’s heard once or twice. Not really to his taste, not country enough and too slow. He hesitates, then gives in to curiosity.

Jenner stands in the middle of the room, walking Mouse through an unsteady spin. Her face is alight with joy, her lower lip bit hard between her teeth as she struggles to muffle delighted giggles. Even as she steps on his toes, all Jenner does is grin down at her, the look in his eyes simultaneously soft, joyous, and unendingly sad.

“Okay,” The doctor concedes, sending her through another little twirl. “Maybe a little laughter is justifiable.”

Mouse squeaks, dropping a hand down to her middle and nearly doubling over as she struggles to contain herself. Jenner’s eyes shine with unshed tears, but the smile that splits his face is filled with the same joy that permeates the girl.

Guilt twists in Shane’s chest and he silently draws back. He rubs a hand over his face, gritting his teeth. He slaps himself lightly, wishing he could hit harder, but he can't make a sound. _I shouldn’t have intruded. I’m such a fucking dick._

On his way back he encounters Glenn, who Rick apparently sent to find Jenner. “Sorry, was just looking for the bathroom,” Shane lies. He hurries along, desperate to see Lori, Carl… Rick. But only Carl seems to have any time for him anymore, and Lori looks ready to kill him any time he so much as smiles in the boy’s direction. The same kid he loves like his own, cared for like his own. 

He sinks down at the dining table, nursing a glass of wine and staring at the far wall. The rest of the crew trickle in, and the smell of food makes Shane’s head spin—potatoes and butter, corn and meatloaf. He wants to scream, or cry, something, anything. _Don’t fall apart. Not here._

The last to arrive is Glenn, trailed by Jenner and his tiny shadow. Glenn heads straight for the bar after he fills a plate up, hopping up to sit on the counter rather than at the table. Lori already settled herself down with Carl, and Shane hadn’t missed the fact that she deliberately chose to have her son sit as far from him as possible. The rejection stings, as fresh as it was the first day.

Jenner is slow to join them, hovering in the doorway. Mouse keeps her face hidden against his side, and when they eventually join, Shane notes that Jenner keeps to the opposite side of the table from the other children. It’s a bit strange, though he sees that it’s the more crowded side. They settle down between Shane and Daryl, with Jacqui and Carol across from them. 

He’s well into his cups already, but even if he can’t muster much of an appetite, Shane isn’t stupid enough to starve himself. They’ve all been losing weight; Rick’s fingers practically look skeletal. He wanted to throw the man down and wrestle him to the ground when he said he was going back into Atlanta for Merle-fucking-Dixon. Couldn’t Rick see himself? He looked half dead, rather than back from it, shadows dark beneath his eyes, limbs stick-thin with little more than flesh stretched tight over what muscle remained. He watched Rick leave, and was certain he’d never see his brother again. Then he came back in the middle of a massacre, which could have been stopped if only he hadn’t insisted on going after that drugged-up racist son of a bitch.

So yeah, he forces himself to eat, even if his family is treating him like a stranger, like he didn’t save their lives, like he didn’t do everything he goddamn could. He forces himself to eat and eat until he knows he’s going to be sick if he takes one more bite.

Everyone is laughing and smiling, overjoyed and celebrating their relief at being alive, well fed, and more than a little drunk. The only ones that aren’t are himself, Andrea whose grief is fresh and harsh, Jenner, and Mouse. She doesn’t look up at them, doesn’t look at anyone. Jenner spends the dinner alternating between slowly chewing a bite of his meal, then coaxing the shivering girl beside him to take one of her own.

They’re well into the feast when Rick stands up, tapping his wine glass to call their attention. Shane’s gaze drifts to him. His head swims, and his cheeks are burning. His mouth tastes like ash. 

“It seems to me we haven’t thanked our host properly.” Rick states, holding out his glass and smiling brilliantly.

“He is more than just our host!” T-Dog declares, the wavering tone of his voice revealing just how far into the drinks he’s gotten.

Dale calls ‘Hear, hear!’ and the sentiment is echoed around the table. “Boo yah!” Daryl shouts, and the redneck isn’t the only one to take up the cry. To Shane’s disbelief Glenn and even T-Dog join in, grinning and laughing. Just a day ago they were worried Daryl would kill T-Dog, and now they’re all friends? Shane glares at the table, refusing to meet any of their gazes.

“Thank you,” Rick says, lifting his glass to Jenner. The doctor doesn’t look at any of them, his hand is resting on Mouse’s back, and his gaze is fixed down onto his plate. 

“So,” Shane snaps, sitting up and glancing over to the man of the hour. “When are you gonna tell us what the hell happened here, doc? All the— the other doctors that were supposed to be figuring out what happened, where are they?”

Silence falls. Most look some variant of surprised or confused, although Andrea’s head lifts at last to reveal her puffy reddened eyes.. Rick and Lori glare at him, and it's Rick who speaks up.

“We’re celebrating, Shane.” Rick puts his glass down as he sits. “Don’t do this now.”

“Whoa, wait a second.” Shane shakes his hand at Rick, a sarcastic smile spreading on his lips. “This is why we’re here, right? This was your move— supposed to find all the answers. Instead we— we found him. Found one man and a little girl. He doesn't even know her name. Why?”

No one moves or speaks. Shane turns to look at the doctor, waiting for the man to finally speak up. Enough fucking bullshit, what the hell is going on here? They have a right to know.

When Jenner finally speaks, his voice comes out quiet, emotionless. He doesn’t look at any of them. He just stares at Mouse. “When things got bad, a lot of people just left, went off to be with their families. And when things got worse, when the military cordon got overrun, the rest bolted.”

“Every last one?” Shane demands.

“No.” At last, Jenner looks at him. His face is blank, but there’s something in his eyes, and it isn’t friendly. “Many couldn’t face walking out the door. They… opted out. There was a rash of suicides. That was a bad time.”

He says it casually. The girl hiding her face against his side whimpers, and Jenner’s indifferent facade begins to crack. His gaze drops back down to her, and he strokes a hand lightly down her back.

“Fine.” Shane snaps. “You still ain’t explained her. Where the hell’d she come from? Was it ‘bring your daughter to work day’ when the world decided to end?”

Jenner’s head snaps up, and for a moment, Shane finds himself wanting his gun. The man stares at him, his teeth gritted in anger. His arm wraps tight around Mouse, who has thrown her own arms around the doctor’s chest. 

“No.” Jenner snaps. “Her mother got her here, like you people. I managed to get Mouse inside in time. I wasn’t fast enough to save her mother from the infected that were following them.”

The silence stretches out. It’s broken by a hitched sob from Mouse. Jenner stands up, pulling Mouse up beside him and hoisting her up so she can wrap her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“We had to shut down the apartments to save power, but there are couches in the rec areas. You can go dig some cots out of storage if you want. If you use the hot water in the showers, make sure to make them quick. Don’t use anything that requires power unless you need to.”

The man leaves, cradling Mouse in his arms who is still muffling sobs into his neck.

“Dude, you’re such a buzzkill, man.” Glenn mutters, reaching for a bottle and taking another long swig.

Most of the others won’t look at him, and those that do are scowling. The only one who doesn’t is Andrea. Her gaze is fixed on the doorway that Jenner left through. 

“Wait,” T-Dog says, his expression thoughtful. “Did he say ‘hot water’?”

* * *

Edwin makes it back to the lab in record time. Mouse is still shaking, and his neck is wet with her tears and snot. He sets her down in a chair and has to untangle himself from her limbs so he can fetch some tissues and hand sanitizer. She hunches in on herself when he moves away, sobbing into her knees until he makes it back.

“I’m here,” he says, helping her sit back up and gently washing her face.

By the time he finishes, her crying has ceased. The green of her eyes stands out against the bloodshot background. She doesn’t look at him, but she almost never does. He gives her a tentative smile, tight with his own grief and regrets, and while she doesn’t smile in return, she does lean forward, pressing her face into his chest and giving him a loose hug.

He stays there until his knees ache, crouched before her and resting his cheek on the top of her head. He scrapes his fingers over her scalp, noting the ways she twitches and shivers. Eventually, even the sharp hitches leave her breath, and they’re just sitting there holding one another, two lost souls with nothing left but each other.

“Do you want to help me examine the blood?” He asks, pulling back and catching her chin so he can see her face. She takes a moment to think before nodding. He smiles, straightening up and offering her his hand.

He makes her put on a facemask and protective eyewear, and insists on directly handling the blood samples himself. There is almost certainly nothing to worry about, but he isn’t going to take any risks. He checks if the samples are done processing, and seeing that they are, he withdraws them from the centrifuge.

“Let’s do yours first,” Edwin offers, selecting the tube he labeled ‘L. Mouse’. She bounces up from the chair she was sitting in, darting over to his side eagerly. “Don’t run,” He warns. “It’s okay,” he quickly reassures her when she freezes, guilt in her eyes. “We just need to be careful. That’s a good life rule, always do things carefully.”

Mouse nods, walking the rest of the way to his side. Edwin turns his gaze back to the sample, blinking away the tears that start blurring his vision. Maybe if he’d been around more to make sure Charlotte understood that rule…

Edwin shakes the thoughts away, carefully smearing a few droplets of Mouse’s blood onto a glass slide. He sets another slide on top of it, then places them beneath a microscope. 

He examines her blood under one-thousand times magnification. Mostly there are red-blood cells, little clear circles that clump together. He sees a few other cell types, but what he’s really looking for isn’t too difficult to locate. The virus infecting them all is smaller than a red blood cell, a round blob with hundreds of thin spikes protruding from each side. It’s in the inactive phase, drifting aimlessly. Once the brain and heart stop, the decomposition process triggers them to activate, invading the brain and taking control of basic operation. Technically, virus probably isn’t an appropriate term. There had been some argument between Edwin’s colleagues before the full magnitude of what they were facing became clear. People stopped debating classification then, and instead prioritized finding a way to stop it. 

“No surprises,” Edwin shares as he pulls back from the microscope. “Here, let's move a chair closer. You can sit up on your knees, yeah, like that. Let me lower the microscope a little. Okay, put your eye up against that part. Exactly. I’m going to move the slide around, I’ll do it slowly.”

Edwin does exactly as he says, shifting the slides so Mouse can get a look at all the different bits. It’s highly unlikely that she is well versed in the finer understandings of blood and what it should look like to be alarmed by the presence of the virus. Besides, since no cure is coming this will be the new normal. From here until the last human falls dead, be that tomorrow or in a few years, they will all carry this inactive monstrosity inside them.

He lets her look as long as she wants to, given that they’re in no rush. When she pulls back at last, her eyes are wide, her gaze unfocused and thoughtful. He wishes she could talk to him, that she could ask the questions he sees swimming behind her eyes. As it is, all he can do is offer her a smile.

“Interesting, right?” He helps her down off the chair as she nods. “Okay, I’ve gotta look at everyone else’s blood just to be safe. Do you—”

He’d been about to ask if she’d like him to put music on, or even ask VI to play an audio book. He’d been having VI play the Hobbit for them whenever the quiet became too much. He used to read it to Charlotte, and the Lord of the Rings of course, before she went to bed. He’d tried reading her the Silmarillion but she'd complained it was ‘boring’. After pretending offence, he’d admitted with a wink that even he found it a little bit dull. 

But they aren’t alone anymore. The newcomers have children, and while he didn’t ask for specifics, by appearance he’d say the three are close in age. He should be asking if she wants to go and say hello properly, maybe play a game with them in the rec room. The rec room he should have showed them as a good host, but he was so angry…

“Would you like to go find the others?” He finally makes himself ask with a smile.

Her expression shifts at once to horror. She freezes in place, watching him with the look he’s come to recognize as meaning she’s afraid to make ‘the wrong choice.’ Sometimes he solves these moments by making the choice for her. Why force her to do something stressful when all of this will be over soon, anyway? She has no time left to ‘improve’ or ‘learn to make her own decisions’. They have now, tonight, and a little of the morning. That’s it. The final hours of their lives.

The thought makes cold sweat break out across his skin, his stomach twisting into a knot. He shudders, dropping his gaze and taking a moment to breathe.

“You don’t have to go,” Edwin adds, smiling at her sadly. “I just— I wanted you to know you can. There are kids you can play with. You don’t have to keep a boring old guy like me company.”

Her shoulders unwind at once. She shakes her head, then darts forward to hug him. He laughs, rubbing her back in reassurance, before asking if she’d prefer music, or the book. 

She picks the book, much to his pleasure. The gravelly voice of Rob Inglis fills the room as he returns to work, but to him it's merely background noise. She settles down in a chair nearby, her gaze unfocused as she falls into a world of little people on big adventures, overcoming impossible odds.

He finishes checking over the blood from Rick’s group fairly quickly, but decides to run a range of tests for lack of anything else to do and unwilling to disturb the tranquil state Mouse has fallen into. He notes down blood types with idle curiosity; unsurprisingly it's mostly O and A positive, those being the two most common, at least in the United States.

Once he runs out of tests, he stores what is left of the samples, out of habit more than anything. It's not like it will matter after tomorrow, but he may as well be thorough. He washes all the slides and leaves them in their rack to dry before finally telling VI to pause the audiobook.

Mouse lifts her cheek off her knee from where she’s sitting. She shoots him a tired smile which he returns. “You must be exhausted, want to get some sleep?”

She shrugs, then yawns. Her head tilts, and she makes an odd gesture, pointing first to him, then herself, then tilting her head and laying it on her hands like they’re a pillow.

He takes a moment to decipher that, before hesitantly asking, “You’re asking if I’m coming to bed as well?”

She nods, and he’s about to say yes, until he remembers that everyone is there out in the hall. All those people, people he’s killed. They’re dead, they just don’t know it yet. _Mouse is—_ He shakes his head.

“No I— I have a few things to take care of.” He forces himself to smile, but she doesn’t return it. “Don’t worry, you need to get your rest. I’ll come join you when I’m done.”

He won’t, can’t. He knows he won’t be able to sleep tonight. He’s going to be up doing anything he can come up with _._ He can’t think, can’t breathe. His head aches, and he feels like he’s going to throw up. 

He starts when small fingers brush his hand, and looks down into her worried expression. He chuckles nervously, running a hand over his thinning hair. “I’m fine Mouse, don’t worry about me.”

She frowns, then shakes her head firmly. Her grip on his hand tightens, and she gives him what is possibly the most teenage expression she’s managed since he met her. It’s a look that says; _try and make me go to bed, just try it._

He hesitates, then gives a genuine smile. “I can’t deny you anything,” he tells her, squeezing her fingers back. “Okay, come on. Let’s grab you a pillow; you can at least put your head down while you tag along.”

They make their way back to their bedroom without encountering any of the newcomers. The scent of water and shampoo is in the air, telling him that their guests did make use of the showers. He’s glad; they deserve comforts like that. He might feel more alone than ever with them here, but he brought them down here, he killed them. The least he can do is make them comfortable.

They grab Mouse’s pillow and head for the big room next. Edwin sets Mouse up in a chair beside him, encouraging her to lay her head down. He swears he won’t go anywhere without her, then turns on the computer to see if there are any extraneous systems he can shut down to save them some small measure of time.

It doesn’t take long for Mouse to drift off. He considers putting the novel on, but she really does need her rest. She isn’t weighed down by the guilt and hopelessness of his failures. There have been a few nights where she didn’t wake up screaming, and if they’re lucky, tonight will be one of them.

“How’s the blood?”

Edwin twitches, sitting up and twisting to face Rick. The man is unsteady on his feet, a goofy smile on his face and a bottle loosely gripped in his hand. Edwin glances at Mouse to make sure she’s still asleep, then raises a finger to his lips while nodding towards her to let Rick know.

“Oh, sh— Ah, I’ll be quiet.” To his credit, Rick does lower his voice. He makes his way over and slides down to the ground nearby. He nearly slips, catching himself at the last second and managing to sit rather than collapse. 

“There weren’t any surprises,” Edwin shares. He tries to smile but can’t bring himself to manage it.

“That’s good… good…” Rick’s eyes focus on the sleeping Mouse, his expression tender. “How’s she holdin’ up?”

“It… varies.” Edwin looks at Mouse, tempted to reach over and stroke her cheek but he resists the urge. “Some days are worse.”

“She hasn’t said anything at all? What about writing?” When Edwin shakes his head Rick straightens up, looking a hair sobered. “Do you think it's physical?”

“No,” Edwin shakes his head. “It’s almost certainly trauma based. She can make sounds, laugh—” He’d been about to say ‘scream’, but stops himself, just barely. “It’s probably Selective Mutism. She—” He swallows and looks away, tears burning in the back of his eyes.

“I… actually came to thank you,” Rick murmurs, his gaze still focused on the girl beside Edwin. 

“You already did.”

“No but—” Rick shudders, taking a quick drink from the bottle, looking at the ground. “You said you— you weren’t fast enough, right?”

Edwin grits his teeth, staring down at his lap. He forces himself to nod.

“She saw, didn’t she?”

Edwin does not, cannot, respond to what Rick says. His chest is tight, his face is hot, and his hands are clammy. He wants to curl up and scream, he wishes he would stop seeing that woman in his dreams. She’s joined Candace and his Charlotte. Unlike Charlotte who laughs, and Candace who rages, the nameless woman just smiles at him sadly.

“So… you know what it's like out there.” Rick nods to himself, horror glinting in his eyes. “A day ago we— we got hit by— by a whole bunch of them. They came rushing out of the woods just, no warning. It was night. We lost— lost a lot of people. Good people. Almost half our group. Just, dead. Not clean either, just…”

“I know.” Edwin tells himself he’s stopping Rick for Mouse’s sake, but he can feel the lie even in his own head. He can’t stand to hear the man say another word.

“Right, sorry…” Rick shakes himself, swallowing hard and slumping against the counter behind him. “I, my family, we’d have died out there. It was only a matter of time. There’s too many of those things. My— my boy… my— my wife, I never— I never told ‘em what I really thought. I never even hinted, just— just kept it in. Kept it in and kept us moving, you know. Just kept it in. Kept us—”

“It’ll all be okay.” Edwin cuts him off, his heart pounding in his ears.

Rick looks like a drowning man who has just been thrown a life-jacket. He wants to shake the man and scream for him to run, that this is all a lie, an illusion. But what would be the point? Rick said it himself. Going back out there would mean death. A long, drawn out painful one. Here, at least it will be quick.

So, he takes a steadying breath, looks Rick Grimes in the eye, and lies once again.

“It’ll be okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks, decided to drop this chapter a little early. The plan is still once a week, I'm planning for Fridays for now. That may change, I'll mention it in my notes if it does. 
> 
> As always any comments and/or thoughts are appreciated, including politely worded critique! If you're not sure what to say, here are some questions to inspire you!
> 
> Questions with Shy; Round 2
> 
> Do you think Shane's suspicion is warranted? Are Rick and the others being naive?
> 
> Who do you think will be the most understanding of Jenner going forward out of the current group?


	3. I Don't Believe You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenner is forced to confront a series of truths, while withholding other ones from Rick's group.

By the time Edwin carries Mouse to bed the facility is silent. She barely stirs when he picks her up, but when he tries to put her down she paws at his arm sleepily. With a shake of his head and a smile he lays down behind her, placing an arm loosely around her waist as she settles back into sleep.

He gazes at the faint outlines of the furniture in the dim light for hours but never quite manages to drift off. Still, when Mouse stirs awake rubbing at her eyes and stretching, he feels a bit rested. Laying in the quiet and listening to her breathe helps calm his restless mind. She needs him to reassure and comfort her. He can’t bring her mother back, can’t save the world, but he can make her time in it easier.

“Sleep well?” He asks, reaching up to pull a few tangled strands of hair from her face. She twists to look at him over her shoulder, presenting an early morning grimace.

“Come on.” He pushes himself up and stretches. “Let’s head down to the showers, alright? May as well wash up before breakfast.”

She only has one outfit, but he washed her clothing the day before. He picks out one of his nicer button ups and a clean pair of slacks. They head down to the showers where they encounter Rick’s wife, Lori, along with her son. She says hello, offering Mouse a smile. Edwin murmurs his own greeting, pausing long enough to tell her where she can find painkillers. Considering how much drinking the group was doing, they’ll probably be necessary. Carl stares at Mouse curiously, but she hides up against Edwin’s side.

Once they both finish, he patiently picks the tangles out of her thick hair, then towel dries her soaked curls to the best of his ability. Charlotte inherited his thin blonde hair, straight as an arrow, but Candace’s hair had a natural wave to it. She’d said she never brushed her hair dry because, “It puffs up like you wouldn’t believe.”

When they walk into the dining room, nearly everyone is there. Several people greet him, and he says ‘hello’ back, guiding Mouse to sit in an empty chair beside the girl, Carol’s daughter he thinks.

“I’ll grab our plates,” he promises, smiling down at Mouse when she twists her hands uneasily. “Come on, it’ll be fine.”

“Please sit?” The freckled girl gives Mouse a smile. “I’m Sophia, and this is Carl.”

Mouse hesitates for only a moment longer before giving in, tentatively settling beside the taller blonde. Sophia grins, leaning back so Carl can offer his own greetings.

“The eggs are really good,” the boy shares. “T-Dog made them.”

“Bet you can’t tell the difference,” the large black man by the counter calls out, and chuckles spread around the table.

Edwin makes his way over to T-Dog, thanking him as he fills two plates. He’s making his way back over to the table when the older man, Dale, speaks up.

“Doctor,” Dale starts, leaning forward and fixing Edwin with an intense look. “I don’t mean to interrogate you first thing in the morning—”

“How about we let the questions wait until after breakfast?” He snaps, acutely aware of how Mouse can barely keep herself still. She fidgets and twitches at every clink of glass or murmur of conversation, her eyes darting here and there like she’s waiting to be attacked.

“We didn’t come here for the eggs.” Andrea scoffs, lifting red-rimmed eyes to glare at him.

Silence falls, leaving everyone to watch them uneasily. Edwin’s expression hardens, and he sets the plates down at the table without replying, seating himself beside Mouse who has frozen in place, her eyes wide and welling with tears.

“Well, doc?” Shane pipes up, seated next to Andrea today.

“Shane,” Rick chides. “I think we can wait until they’re done eating.”

Shane bristles, but Edwin ignores the man and focuses on Mouse. “Come on, just try a bite? It smells good, doesn’t it?”

He can already tell it isn’t going to work. Mouse shakes her head, her breath hitching in her chest. He squeezes his fork and tries to push the building anger away. Couldn’t they have just kept their mouths shut? He wanted to give Mouse a nice breakfast, a quiet morning to sit around, maybe listen to some more of The Hobbit. He wanted them to do nothing of any consequence.

“It’s really good,” Sophia adds, looking at the smaller girl with concern. Mouse shakes harder, whimpering and turning to hide her face into Edwin’s arm.

“It isn’t your fault,” Edwin assures Sophia when he sees the flicker of self-reprimand in her eyes. “Mouse just has a hard time with eating.” He turns to look at Andrea and Shane as he adds, “When she gets stressed she usually can’t eat at all.”

Shane looks away, but Andrea continues to stare at him, her ice-blue gaze unyielding.

“We’re sorry,” Lori offers, glancing between Mouse and Edwin. “We could cover it up? She can eat later.”

“Here,” Jacqui gets up, coming around the table and giving Mouse a soft smile. “I’ll take care of these for you.”

Edwin tries to say it's unnecessary, but he doesn’t want to leave Mouse. Besides, his appetite is gone. He doesn’t think he wants to eat now, or ever.

“Thanks,” he finally allows, letting Jacqui take the plates as he continues to rub Mouse’s back. She stays huddled against his side and he sighs, thinking through his options.

He tells them to meet him in the main room once they are done with breakfast, taking Mouse’s hand and leading her away. Andrea gets up to follow, and he doesn’t miss that Dale does as well. He ignores them, guiding Mouse to sit in one of the abandoned office chairs and preparing to play Candace’s scans.

“I’m sorry,” Dale says as he approaches, his expression contrite. “I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“It’s… fine.” Edwin grunts as he continues to type.

Andrea leans against a nearby counter, watching him with quiet indifference. He knows that look in her eyes; she’s grieving. Hurting so much that the only way to stand is to not feel anything at all. He doesn’t hate her, he’s been her before, but he still resents how she ruined Mouse’s meal.

“Do you know why she doesn’t speak?” Dale smiles at Mouse and gives a small wave. Mouse looks down at her toes, biting her lip before she responds with a tiny wave back.

“I'm a virologist, not a psychologist,” Edwin points out. “I’d have to do some digging. It could just be everything that’s happened, but I’m guessing there’s an underlying issue.”

“Has she indicated anything?”

Edwin rubs the bridge between his eyes, sighing deeply. None of this matters, why won’t he just drop it? What does it matter if Edwin noticed that all the tags had not just been cut from her clothing, but carefully picked out down to the last thread? What difference does it make if he saw that any scented shampoo makes her wrinkle her nose in disgust? None of it will matter in less than three hours.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be nosy,” Dale apologizes. “I can’t imagine how hard it would be, to find yourself parenting an orphaned girl without any prior experience.”

Edwin’s chest seizes, his fingers clenching into fists. He straightens up, breathing hard. Mouse looks up in alarm, her focus zeroed in. Before he can find the words to make Dale leave him alone, he hears the echo of footsteps coming from down the hall.

“You can sit down if you want,” he says stiffly, grabbing the remote control and heading towards the front of the room. Mouse pops up from her chair, following after him and latching onto his side. He wraps his free arm around her, rubbing slow circles into her back.

“Everyone here?” He asks, glancing over his shoulder and doing a headcount. He doesn’t think anyone is missing, and Rick nods, so Edwin turns back to the main screen. “VI, give me a playback of TS-19.”

As VI starts the playback, he looks to Rick’s group, taking in their curious and confused expressions. He isn’t ready to do this. He watched it so many times, at first just to absorb the last moment’s of his wife’s life, recorded to be studied and dissected. He hadn’t wanted to let her do this, had begged to hold her instead, had argued and screamed and cried. Candace was resolute. She would be scanned as the infection took hold, and he would finish what she started, what their friends in France had been trying to accomplish.

“I’ve written everything down,” her hands shook as she tapped the pile of journals, filled at first with elegant handwriting, later with jagged shapes that became more and more difficult to decipher. “You’ll finish this Edwin, I know you will. I know you can.” He failed her, like he failed everyone else.

Edwin takes them through the relevant events and fields their questions. This is a brain. Those are the synapses. We’re watching a vigil. Test Subject 19’s. He shows them how the virus invades the brain, like meningitis, tells them how the resurrection times vary. He can recite from memory how long it took Candace’s corpse to twitch back into motion. ‘It restarts the brain?’ No, just the brain stem. Despite all the evidence to the contrary some part of him had been convinced he shot his own wife until he saw the playback. She was dead and gone, the virus using her corpse like a macabre puppeteer.

“You have no idea what it is, do you?”

Andrea’s voice is harsh in the silence that follows the viewing. Mouse trembles, hugging him as hard as she can. Edwin doesn’t turn to face the blonde, too tired to deal with her judgement.

“It could be microbial, viral, parasitic, fungal.” It could have been any of those, but it wasn’t. He doesn’t want to tell them. He’s already bared his soul, his failures. This one isn’t on him at least. Let the monstrous truth die with him.

They keep questioning, and all Edwin knows is that he wants it to stop. He doesn’t have any answers, not ones he is willing to give. I didn’t sleep enough. I destroyed all my samples. It should have been me. No one would have missed him, least of all Candace who hadn’t been able to look him in the eyes for three years before the end. He knows she didn’t blame him. He even knows why she couldn’t look at him. Charlotte had his eyes.

“Dr. Jenner,” Dale cuts in, observant as ever. “I know this has been taxing for you, and I hate to ask one more question, but… that clock— it’s counting down. What happens at zero?”

He thinks about lying, tries to come up with something convincing. His head is fuzzy with exhaustion, his energy flagging from being awake so long. “The basement generators run out of fuel.”

“And then?” Rick demands.

And then, nothing. Edwin turns away, pulling Mouse with him. He ignores the spreading whispers in their wake, heading for a room he has not entered since the day his wife died.

He steps into the office which overlooks the big room. The glass windows are clear from this side, opaque from the other. The air in here is stale, so he leaves the door open to help it circulate. Mouse wipes at her eyes, looking around curiously as he guides her to one of the chairs in front of Candace’s desk.

“I’ll only be a minute,” he promises when she tries to pull him down beside her. She bites her lip, letting him go reluctantly. He keeps his word, just grabbing the picture of Candace he left face down on a shelf, unable to look at it for even one second.

He returns to Mouse’s side, sitting beside her and holding the picture up. She leans close, looking at it with interest.

“This is… or was, my wife.” Edwin is surprised by how steady his voice is. He reaches up, lightly stroking Mouse’s damp curls.

She looks up at him, her expression pained. After a moment, she leans over and hugs him, sniffling into his shirt.

He rests his chin on her head, breathing slowly. She’s made everything easier to bear. She’s the only good thing that happened to him since long before the world ended. He wishes he’d saved her mother, wishes that he hadn’t destroyed the only chance he had to save humanity. Wishes he had died, and Candace had lived.

“We always think there will be more time,” he whispers.

He closes his eyes and allows the grief to wash through him. He wishes he could apologize to Candace. He wishes that she could tell him she’s proud of him for trying. It hurts to know what she’d actually say, that she’d rage and accuse and blame him for wasting her sacrifice.

He lets Mouse go when she pulls back, rubbing her eyes and tensing up. She does this sometimes when she’s trying to psyche herself up to do something. He smiles, the fondness that aches through his chest bringing more tears to his eyes. He’s glad she’s here with him, that he got to make her life a little easier before the end. She deserves so much more, but there’s nothing out there for her but suffering.

Mouse breathes out abruptly, grimacing and shaking her head. She parts her lips, and then a flash of frustration crosses her face. She brings her hands up with another huff, but all she does is press them over her eyes. With a whine, she uncovers them to point towards herself, her teary eyes focused directly on him. Her hands come together, forming a shape that he distantly recognizes. Then she points at him.

Before he can react, she lunges forward, hugging him with all the strength in her skinny arms. For such a tiny thing, she can hold on tight. She trembles against him, quiet sobs muffled into his chest.

What does she mean? He knows exactly what she meant.

Anyone who wasn’t a coward would recognize those gestures. Slowly Edwin brings up his arms. He wraps them around her and realizes he’s shaking. He lowers his chin to rest on top of her head, his own breath hitching in his chest, coming out in desperate whimpers. You know what she meant.

There isn’t any ambiguity in the shape of a heart.

“I do too,” Edwin gasps, hiding his face into her hair. “So— So much… I…”

Is he just projecting, trying to replace Charlotte and Candace? She’s nothing like them, not in appearance, not in personality. Charlotte had her mother’s vivaciousness, her endless curiosity, her fierce independence. He’d been so glad that she was nothing like him, had none of his insecurities, his anxieties, his doubts.

The lights go out. He closes his eyes, shaking his head and sobbing harder. There’s never enough time.

Rather than wait for Rick’s people to come looking, Edwin heads to the big room. The only moment he takes for himself is to pull out that photo of Candace, and the one hidden behind it. He folds them up and slides them into his pocket before turning to face the end. This isn’t what he wanted, not for Mouse, not for them, but it is what it is. The only side trip he takes is to the bathroom, to wash her face and his own. Then he hefts Mouse up into his arms, and carries her back downstairs, ignoring the yells of the confused men and women who call out his surname and title, things that never felt like they belonged to him at all.

He sits down at last, Mouse sprawled over his chest as the whole crew comes running up. Most of the lights are off, the clock counting down toward the final hour. He rubs Mouse’s back, letting her hide her face into his neck to get away from all the shouting.

“Jenner!” Rick comes hurrying up. “What’s going on?”

He sighs, staring out over these people who should already know. He shakes his head and shrugs. There’s no point in holding back now, and they already suspect. If they wanted to leave, they should have done so earlier.

“The system is dropping all the non-essential uses of power. It’s designed to keep the computers running to the last possible second. That started as we approached the one-hour mark.” He gestures to the countdown which reads sixty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds. “Right on schedule.”

They stare at him bewildered, and all at once his irritation crests. He snorts, stroking his hand down Mouse’s back and shaking his head at the absurdity of it all. “It was the French.” At their confused expressions he adds, “They were the last ones to hold out as far as I know. While our people were bolting out the doors and committing suicide in the hallways, they stayed in their labs till the end. They thought they were close to a solution.”

“What happened?” It’s Jacqui, her dark eyes widening with growing horror. He offers her a sad smile. She’s kind; he owes her the truth.

“The same thing that’s happening here. No power grid. Ran out of juice. The world runs on fossil fuel. I mean, how stupid is that?”

Candace wanted to install solar. She went before Congress, testified hour after hour, pleading with each subsequent president. They hemmed and hawed, arguing that surely everything would be fine. For every representative who saw the need, there were ten who could not care about the situation less. The money never materialized, and when the end came, they were not ready.

Shane starts yelling, but Rick cuts him off. He orders the others to gather their belongings so they can leave. Edwin watches him dully, Mouse huddled in his lap. The anger in him rises, disbelief at Rick’s hypocrisy. He told him just last night that there was no hope, nothing out there but death.

The alarm triggers, echoing harshly throughout the facility’s hallways as the final countdown begins. VI calls out the sixty-minute warning, her mechanical voice as indifferent as ever. Even he can’t ask her to do much now; no one can, not unless they hooked up a barrel with more fuel to the generator.

They’re terrified. Of course they are. He’s scared, too. The human instinct for self-preservation is self-destructive in its intensity. Even when the end is inevitable, people struggle on, fighting for each agonizing breath rather than allowing a cleaner, easier death to take its natural course.

He twists in the chair, typing a code into the computer before him. A pop up appears, demanding a credential check. Candace made him the official head of the facility before her death, so he presses his thumb to the scanner and waits for it to register his identity. The blast door slides up, sealing everyone inside.

“Did he just lock us in?!” It’s Glenn, the young man of Asian descent. “He just locked us in!”

Edwin closes his eyes, shutting out the world around him. He hugs Mouse close, kissing the top of her head. She shudders, pressing her face as against his neck as she can and bringing up her hands to cover her ears.

“Jenner!” It’s Rick again, coming close. “Jenner, open that door right now.”

“There’s no point.” Edwin mutters. “Everything topside is locked down. The emergency exits are sealed.”

“Well, open the damn things,” Dale calls out.

“That’s not something I control. The computers do.” Edwin shakes his head, exasperated. He wishes he’d never let them in, that he’d turned them away. Why can’t they leave them in peace? “I told you once that front door closed, it wouldn’t open again. You heard me say that. It’s better this way.”

“What is?” Rick demands. “What happens in an hour?” When Edwin fails to respond he rushes forward. “What happens in fifty-eight minutes?!”

Mouse whines, shaking in Edwin’s arms. The rage is a relief after swimming so long in despair.

He shoots up to his feet, dropping Mouse onto the chair. She curls in on herself, gasping for breath and covering her ears. He turns to Rick, looming over the shorter man.

“Do you know what this place is?!”

Rick doesn’t; if he had, he never would have come here.

“We protected the public from very nasty stuff! Weaponized smallpox! Ebola strains that could wipe out half the country! Stuff you don’t want getting out! Ever!”

Save for the whimpering, silence falls. Edwin takes a deep breath, turning back to Mouse and stroking her hair. He apologizes without words to the best of his ability, letting her lean against his hip.

“In the event of a catastrophic power failure— in a terrorist attack, for example— H.I.Ts are deployed to prevent any organisms from getting out.”

“What are those?” Rick asks, his voice low with fear.

“VI, Define H.I.Ts.”

As VI’s voice rings out, describing the method of their death without passion or care, cries of despair spread through the group. They look at him like he’s a monster, like he wanted this, like he begged them to come in here, rather than begged them to go away. When VI finally falls silent, Edwin allows himself to finish where the virtual intelligence has failed.

“It sets the air on fire. No pain. An end to sorrow, grief… regret. Everything.”

The knowledge of their impending death rampages through the room like the very pandemic which has brought an end to their species. Shane and Daryl go for the door, taking up axes and hacking uselessly at feet thick steel, most of the others bursting into tears and clinging to their loved ones. Edwin sits back down to soothe Mouse as best he can. Her grip on him is as tight as she can manage, and he doesn’t bother to acknowledge the looks of disgust that are thrown his way.

Shane returns from the door, out of breath and visibly trembling. “Can’t make a dent,” he pants, staring wide-eyed at the ground.

“Those doors were designed to withstand a rocket launcher,” Edwin informs him irritably. Mouse is still covering her ears, flinching with each new clang of metal on metal.

“Your head ain’t!”

Daryl sprints down the ramp, rage shining in his eyes. Edwin twists, shielding Mouse with his body. Blood rushes in his ears, the screams of men and women alike telling Daryl to stop, to back away. None of it matters. He sits there shaking, his mind empty of all thoughts.

It takes the others precious moments to calm the redneck, who throws the axe to the ground and storms away. Edwin looks up cautiously, straightening back out and shifting Mouse into a more comfortable position. He stares at Rick, who is pale and grim faced, and feels another burst of resentment.

“You do want this,” He accuses, glaring at the slim sheriff. “Last night you said you knew it was just a matter of time before everybody you loved was dead.” Shocked silence spreads amongst the group, their gazes now turned towards their leader.

“You really said that?” Shane demands, hurt stark in his face. “After all your big talk?”

“I had to keep hope alive, didn’t I?” Rick grits out, glaring at his friend.

Edwin shakes his head, stroking Mouse’s hair. “There is no hope. There never was.”

“There’s always hope,” Rick snaps, whipping around to face him. “Maybe it won’t be you, maybe not here, but somebody, somewhere—”

“What part of ‘everything is gone’ do you not understand?” Andrea speaks up at last, lifting her head from her knees. The grieving blonde glares at Rick, the same despair and resentment that Edwin has been drowning in spilling from her lips.

“Exactly,” Edwin gestures to her, nodding in agreement. “Your— Your sister, what was her name?”

“Amy,” Andrea answers after a heartrendingly long pause. Her blue eyes swim with fresh tears.

“Amy,” Edwin nods, smiling sadly. “You’ve seen what this does, you know what’s waiting out there. Rick, listen to your friend. She gets it. This is what takes us down. This is our extinction event.”

“This isn’t right,” It’s Carol who cries out now, lifting her face from where it was buried into her sobbing daughter’s hair. “You can’t just keep us here.”

Exasperated, Edwin explains, “One tiny moment— a millisecond. No pain.”

Carol shakes her head, crying even harder. “My daughter doesn’t deserve to die like this!”

Edwin sighs, leaning back into his chair and rubbing a soothing hand in between Mouse’s shoulders. She hasn’t moved, hasn’t made a sound all this time, nothing beyond those quiet gasps and whimpers. “This is kinder, more compassionate. Can’t you see that?” Even as Dale comes over to help Carol and Sophia stand, guiding the pair away, Edwin continues. “What’s out there, it’s a torture worse than death. Here, all you have to do is just wait and let the clock—”

“You’re lying!” Rick snarls, moving right up into Edwin’s face. He grits his teeth, twisting and trying to look away but the sheriff grabs his shoulder, forcing him to stay still. “You’re lying about there being no hope,” Rick insists, forcing Edwin to meet his eyes. “If that were true, you’d have bolted with the rest or taken the easy way out. You sure as hell wouldn’t have saved that little girl.”

“Wouldn’t have…” Edwin glares at the other man, trembling from head to toe. “You think I wanted this?!” He demands. “I wasn’t supposed to be here! It should have been me on that fucking table! I’m just Edwin Jenner! No one would have missed me! She could have saved the world! She could have stopped this!”

Edwin sits there, panting for breath. Exhaustion and pain burn behind his eyes. He’s so tired, why can’t they just let this happen? Why did they have to make it like this?

“Test Subject 19— Was she your wife?” Lori asks, her voice barely loud enough to be heard. There is horror in her blue eyes.

Edwin can’t speak. He nods, tears running down his cheeks.

“Would she have wanted this?” Rick demands, his expression fierce. “Your wife, would she have wanted you to murder that little girl?”

Edwin looks down into teary green eyes. She blinks at him slowly, more tears dripping down her cheeks.

“No,” Edwin says dully, stroking Mouse’s cheek. “But she wouldn’t have wanted to sentence her to dying the way she did either.” He hides his nose in Mouse’s hair, breathing slowly.

“We’re just asking for a choice!” Lori cries out, clutching her son and shaking her head. “Please, that’s all we—”

“Shane, no!”

Edwin registers the cocking of a gun, sees the man moving forward from the corner of his eye. He shoves Mouse to the side, hardly noticing her pained cry as she hits the floor. There is a gun in his face, but that’s fine. He’s going to die soon, he didn’t want this, didn’t want to suffer, but it’s okay. Rick screams at the man, the others beg him, Shane stares him down, despair and loathing shimmering from every pore.

He doesn’t know what makes Shane’s target shift. He doesn’t realize what the cop is planning fast enough to stop him. Edwin is on his feet, and everyone is screaming. Shane’s heel grinds into Mouse’s side, pinning the girl to the ground while his gun stays steady on her chest.

“I’ll gut-shot her!” Shane bellows, his expression twisted with rage. Sophia and Carl cry and hide their faces into their mothers’ chests. Edwin does not take his eyes off the shorter man, his fingers twitching at his sides. He wants to wrap them around Shane’s throat, cut off the air and watch as his face turns blue. He wants to feel the bones crunch under his finger tips.

“Shane!” Rick snarls, eyes bulging with terror. “Brother, this isn’t you! Brother, stop! Stop this! Let her go, goddamnit!”

“You want her to die in pain, man?” Shane snarls, hate shimmering in his black eyes. “That's what you want?! You want this little girl to die?!”

Mouse lays there motionless, her eyes glassy. Edwin can’t breathe. His heart hammers in his chest, terror aching through his whole body.

“Don’t—” He stammers, holding out a hand, his eyes so wide the skin feels like it's going to rip. “Don’t—” He steps back, fumbling for the scanner as tears drip down his cheeks.

He has to look away to type in the code, his ears ringing as adrenaline surges in his veins. His hands tremble so hard he has to try twice. The door slides down, and when he looks back he whimpers, “Please…”

For a moment no one moves, then Shane shifts the gun away and steps back. Edwin lurches forward, sinking to his knees and dragging Mouse into his arms, gasping and sobbing into her hair.

“I’m here,” he whimpers, cradling her against his chest and cupping her cheek. “I’m here Mousey. Hey— Hey, it’s okay. I’m here, I’m here…”

He distantly registers Shane rallying the others to flee, wholly caught up in soothing the shivering child in his arms. She doesn’t scream or cry, she doesn’t reach for him. He didn’t mean for this, he didn’t mean for any of this…

“Hey, hey!” Rick crouches down, his eyes wide and shocky. “You— You don’t want her to die. I know you don’t.” He reaches forward, placing a hand on Mouse’s shoulder. “Please, I’ll take care of her.”

His fingers are limp as Rick takes Mouse from his arms. He watches her stir and blink, sluggish and confused. Rick hefts her onto his shoulder, but as he hurries towards the exit, Mouse’s eyes remain fixed on Edwin.

He can’t take his eyes off her. The fingers of one hand twitch, curling up like she’s trying to make that symbol. His vision blurs, tears spilling down his cheeks as Rick passes her to the bulky man, T-Dog. Rick sprints ahead, and then the rest of them are gone, leaving him alone with the two who want to stay, and the one who refuses to give up.

Edwin collapses against his desk, sobbing harder than he has since the night he found out his daughter was dead. He flinches when a hand comes down on his back, rubbing the same soothing circles in that he was offering to Mouse just minutes ago.

“You did the right thing.” It’s Jacqui, kindness shining in her sad eyes.

He can’t speak. There’s a hole in his chest, an empty weight that drags everything down into it. You’d think that nothing wouldn’t hurt, but it’s the worst pain imaginable. There’s something missing, and no matter where he looks, he can’t find it.

Jacqui stays by his side, offering silent comfort as the clock ticks down. The only sounds are the arguing of Dale and Andrea and his own sobs. Then, the patter of small, running feet.

“Oh God,” Jacqui’s voice hitches, fear entering it for the first time since the door slammed shut.

“No!”

It’s a high voice he’s never heard, and somehow recognizes at once. His head snaps up, joy and dread slamming into his chest. She comes dashing down that ramp, ducking around chairs and desks and throwing herself into his arms without hesitation. “No, no, no!”

He clutches at her, pulling her up into his lap and gasping against her hair. She sobs into his neck, wrapping her arms around him. Her tears soak his skin, and all he wants to do is curl around her and soothe her back to sleep, make her breakfast in the morning, finish listening to _The Hobbit_ —

“Fifteen minutes until decontamination.”

“Go!” Jacqui pulls at his arm, helping him stand up. “Go! Take her! Get out of here!”

Edwin runs.

He’s never run this hard before in his life. He hoists Mouse over his shoulder, and he sprints. He tears down that long hallway, making for the staircase at the side. He does not stop for breath, does not stop to think. He forces himself up each step as fast as the last, VI’s voice repeating in his head.

A boom echoes through the stairwell, and for an irrational instant, he thinks he’s too late. But he wouldn’t have heard it or felt it if he were. He keeps going, panting as he comes up into the empty entryway of the CDC. One of the windows has exploded outward, glass shattered across the lawn. Rick’s group is nowhere to be seen, but their cars are still parked outside.

He only sets Mouse down long enough to jump out, having her jump down to him. He hoists her back up, sprinting across the lawn, ignoring the infected he can see from the corners of his vision. He can make it, and if he can’t, it’s okay, so long as she does.

T-Dog comes spilling out of one of the cars, aiming his gun low and shooting for the legs of the infected that stumble towards them. Daryl comes around the edge of another vehicle, taking aim with his crossbow and taking out any who come too close. A moment later, Edwin jerks open the back door of an old sedan, shoving Mouse inside and scrambling in after her.

T-Dog ducks in behind the wheel, shoving his gun into the front passenger seat. They both sit there trembling, Edwin only shifting so that Mouse can huddle against his side, sprawled across the back seats with her cheek resting on his thigh.

They aren’t moving. Why aren’t they moving?

“We have to— have to go…” Edwin whispers, coughing hard and shaking his head. “The— The— The shock wave…”

“What?” T-Dog looks back at him dazedly.

“The shock wave… it will take out… everything nearby…”

T-Dog’s cheeks turn gray. He scrambles out of the side of the car, screaming at Daryl. The archer darts past them, running up to the RV. T-Dog climbs back into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut and revving the engine. As they pull away from the CDC, Edwin sees the RV behind them, Daryl on his motorcycle pulling out in front.

“Nnn…” He looks down at Mouse, who watches him with hurt and fear in her eyes. “D-Don’t… go…”

His chest tightens and he nods, petting her hair and whispering apologies. She slips her arms around his waist, hiding her face in his stomach. All he can do is clutch her back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I seriously considered making the chapter title 🐭❤️🧑🔬. I'm not kidding. 
> 
> As always, any and all comments are greatly appreciated including politely worded critique.
> 
> If you aren't sure what to write, here is some inspiration! Questions with Shy, take three!
> 
> How do you feel about Jenner's belief that humanity cannot recover from what has happened? Would you think something similar were you in his shoes?
> 
> What do you think of Shane's actions? Do you think he'd have ever actually shot a child, if Jenner hadn't complied? Do you think he was right or wrong to threaten an innocent child trying to save the entire group?


	4. Vote of Confidence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group escapes the CDC and begins dealing with its aftermath.

Shane slumps against the RV’s wall, his hands shaking. That alarm still echoes in his ears, the computer’s dispassionate voice describing their doom. He can’t stop feeling that little girl, limp beneath his foot. He doesn’t think she’d have moved, not even if he jammed the gun in her face. She’d have just laid there and let him shoot her. He feels sick. Then the door lifted.

He wouldn’t have shot her, couldn’t have, but he can’t stop seeing those glassy eyes. He can feel the fearful looks the others give him. They should be fucking thanking him for saving their asses. He wouldn’t have shot her, but he had to do something. Rick talked them into the Dragon’s Lair, and Shane got them out. They’d have died down there if he hadn’t done what he did.

He can’t sit still anymore. He staggers to the front where Rick and Glenn are. Rick is driving while Glenn examines a map, mumbling about where they might find gas.

“How’s it look?” Shane asks, frowning at the two vehicles leading the way. Somebody’s driving Carol’s Cherokee, and Daryl is out front on his motorcycle.

“We’ve got a little time,” Rick squeezes the steering wheel. “We just need to get some distance right now. Daryl said—”

Shane feels the explosion inside his lungs. The RV swerves, the windows rattling in their panes. Rick stomps his foot down onto the break, bringing them to a stop just in time to avoid a crash. Shane slams into the wall, catching himself on the arm of Glenn’s seat with a grunt of pain. There’s screaming from the back, Lori and Carol hanging onto Sophia and Carl. Shane struggles upright with a gasp, twisting around before Rick can even ask him to check on the others.

“Everyone alright?” He stumbles into the main living area of the RV. The women and children are all sitting around the dining table, crammed into the bench seats. Lori’s grip on Carl tightens, and the flicker of anger in her eyes makes Shane’s stomach roll.

“We’re fine,” Lori states coldly.

He stares at her dazedly, that fucking alarm still ringing in his ears. He saved her, saved Carl. Sophia won’t look at him, crying into her mother’s neck.

Rick calling out for him snaps Shane out of his daze. With a shudder, he heads back up to the front.

“We need to stop,” Rick gestures to Daryl and Cherokee, both stopped as well. “Re-connect, see if we can find the walkies.”

“You really think here is the best place?”

Rick shakes his head. “I don’t think anywhere is, but we can be quick. I don’t want to go any longer without a way to communicate.”

Shane nods, his fingers brushing the shotgun slung over his shoulder. He lets Rick take the lead, stepping out of the RV with his python drawn and ready while Shane covers his back. Glenn pulls the door shut behind them. He’ll tell Lori and Carol the plan, then wait in the driver’s seat just in case they need to get out fast.

T-Dog steps out of the Cherokee when he spots them, an assault rifle slung around his back. Daryl sits straddling his brother’s shitty motorcycle, eyeing them calculatingly. Someone is still inside the Cherokee. Dale? Shane frowns, trying to get a better look. 

“T-Dog, do you know where the walkies are?” Rick asks.

“Uh, maybe?” T-Dog steps forward warily. “Just, wait. We need to talk about—”

The backseat passenger door opens, and Doctor Jenner climbs out.

Shane’s gun comes up, aimed at the man who nearly killed them all. Rage spills through his gut, fury with T-Dog for putting them all at risk, fury with Rick for leading them into danger in the first place.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” T-Dog darts forward and puts himself between Shane and the other man. “Man, stop this! Stop this shit!”

“Shane!” Rick shouts, grabbing for his arm and trying to jerk the gun towards the ground. “Shane, stop it, goddamnit!”

“This is his fucking fault, Rick!” Shane snarls, trying to jerk the gun back up. “We almost died. Lori and Carl almost died! Where the fuck is Andrea, Jacqui, Dale?! They’re all dead because of him!”

“Man, enough!” T-Dog yells, glaring at him like this is somehow his fault. “Jacqui didn’t have to stay, that was her decision. Besides, I fucking dropped the kid, alright?! This is my damn fault! I lost my grip, and I was too scared to go back down.”

At last, Rick manages to get the gun pointed at the ground. With a snarl, Shane jerks it away, but rather than lift it back up, he just steps back, glaring at T-Dog. “What are you even saying, man?”

“Mouse,” the T-Dog explains, his expression flashing with guilt. “She— She started thrashing on the way up, and— and I— I lost my grip. She went running down those stairs before I could grab her, and I— I was scared that there wasn’t enough time. I didn’t go back, okay? He came up with her, so it's on me, not him.”

Daryl snorts, his lips twitching with wry amusement, though for what Shane can’t begin to grasp. Shane just gapes, unable to process a word that T-Dog said. It feels like they’re speaking two different languages.

“The hell did you let him in the car for?” Shane demands at last.

“I wasn’t gonna just leave him,” T-Dog insists, his tone appalled. “And even if I would, what the hell do you think that little girl would do?! She went sprinting down into a facility that was about to explode. She’d throw herself out of the damn car!”

Shane grits his teeth, his finger twitching on the trigger of his gun. Jenner hasn’t said a word in his defense, standing behind T-Dog and staring at them all with dead grey eyes.

“This is not alright,” Shane growls under his breath. “Rick, tell me that this isn’t alright.”

“It needs to be discussed,” Rick responds, leaving Shane to turn away and curse. “As does the fact that you pointed a gun at a child.”

Shane looks at his brother in disbelief and sees nothing but sincerity in Rick’s eyes. “That I— You want to discuss the fact that I pointed a gun at a fucking dead girl, when the guy who was planning to murder her and all of us is standing right there?!”

“Yeah, I do!” Rick shouts, getting up in his face. “But not now, not here. I want to find the radios and get back in the damn cars, before some walkers show up and make everything—”

“Heads up,” Daryl calls out, getting off his motorcycle and swinging up his crossbow. “We got company.”

Shane brings up his shotgun, expecting walkers and half hoping one gets Jenner. It would solve all their problems. Instead, a car pulls around the bend of the road, all the windows cracked and the back ones outright shattered. There are two people inside, and he’s lowering his gun in amazement and disbelief as he recognizes Dale and Andrea. 

They pull up to the impromptu huddle, spilling out of the car on shaky legs. Andrea stands there, dull eyed and silent, while Rick rushes forward to hug Dale.

“Jacqui?” Rick asks. Dale shakes his head. 

“We gonna sit around and suck each other’s dicks, or what?” Daryl calls out, rolling his eyes. “Dale, you remember where the radios are?”

“Ah, yeah— yeah,” Dale bends over and takes a deep breath. “They’re uh, they’re supposed to be under the passenger side front seats of each car, let me, uh,” he heads back towards the car he just exited, rubbing a hand over his face. 

Andrea walks past the RV, holding up a hand to stop him when Shane tries to ask if she’s okay. She wanders towards T-Dog, passing him and finally coming to a stop in front of Jenner.

“Mind if I take the front seat?” Her voice is flat, the same cold exterior she’s had for everyone since her sister died. 

“There’s room,” Jenner offers, stepping to the side and pulling the door open for her. She sinks into the car, pulling the door shut and slumping in place.

“Shane,” Rick comes back, his expression determined. “Could you go find our radio? We should get moving.”

Shane stares at him for a long moment, before nodding and heading back to the RV. He glances over his shoulder and sees Rick moving to talk to Jenner. T-Dog is still standing beside him, but he seems more relaxed now that Shane is gone. With a disgusted snarl, he steps back inside.

“Dale’s alright?” Glenn demands the second the door opens, his expression relieved. Shane nods as he heads up to the front seats. “What about Andrea? Jacqui?”

“Andrea left with him,” Shane explains, getting down on his knees and checking for the radio. Sure enough, it's there, though it got pushed pretty far back. “Jacqui’s dead because of that fucking doctor.”

“Shit,” Glenn mutters, glancing outside and eyeing said doctor nervously. “Uh, is it okay if I go say ‘Hi’ to Dale?”

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Shane sinks down into the passenger seat, scowling at Rick who has his hand on Jenner’s shoulder. “Seems everyone’s fine with the situation.”

Glenn frowns but he heads outside after a moment, leaving Shane to fume as Jenner gets back into the Cherokee and T-Dog heads up to Andrea’s side to look for the radio. After he finds it Rick and T-Dog share a moment talking before T-Dog heads around to the driver’s side.

“Everything alright?”

Lori steps into the driver's area, her expression tense, but her curiosity evidently overwhelming her distaste for Shane. Shane sighs, waving a hand dismissively to Carol’s car in front of him. 

“Yeah, since everyone seems to be just fine with having a murderer along for the ride.”

“Jenner’s in that car?” Lori confirms. She lets out a shaky breath when Shane nods, grabbing her hair and pulling it back like she’s going to put it up into a ponytail. She releases it after a moment, breathing heavily and hanging her head. 

“You can’t be fuckin’ okay with this,” Shane mutters, looking at her in disbelief.

“If Rick thinks it’s safe—”

“Oh for—” Shane stands up, trying to ignore how Lori flinches back. “Can you stop that crap, alright? You can’t be fucking okay with a goddamn murderer being around Carl—”

“Just like I’m okay with him being around a—” She stops herself only just, her expression twisted with anger. Shane stares at her in silence, the scratches on his neck burning.

“A what?” He demands, keeping his voice low.

“You know what,” she hisses, her lips trembling and eyes shining with tears.

“Right,” Shane mutters, sinking back down into the chair and rubbing his forehead. “Right. Why don’t you run along and bitch to Jacqui— Oh, wait, she’s dead because of that asshole. Just like you would be if it wasn’t for me, like Carl would be—”

Lori gasps, tears running over her cheeks, and immediately Shane regrets what he’s said. Before he can find the words to apologize, she turns away, leaving the front area and hurrying back to Carol and the others. 

“Great job, Shane,” he mutters to himself, glaring at Glenn and Dale as they exchange a tight hug. “Real class act, am I right?”

This is a fucking mess, and they wouldn’t be in it if they’d have just gone to Fort-fucking-Benning.

* * *

When Rick went into Atlanta after Merle Dixon he came across a bunch of gang-bangers holed up in some old-person home in Atlanta. It’s closer than the quarry, so they’re heading there to see if they can bed down for a night or two, because apparently one murderer isn’t enough for Rick.

It turns out to be for nothing because they pull in and find a massacre. Everyone there is dead, their belongings looted, guns, ammo, food and medicine, all gone. Shane, Rick, T-Dog and Daryl comb the place room by room, finding nothing but bodies, all shot clean in the head. Some have their hands zip-tied, old folk shot where they lay in their beds.

“Who the hell would do this?” T-Dog whispers, tears in his eyes as he looks down at the petite man who was apparently the leader. He went down fighting. Close to his body are two dead chihuahuas. It looks like someone crushed them under foot. 

“Someone we don’t want to meet,” Rick growls, his expression grim. “Let’s just move the cars into the courtyard. We’ll close it off, get everyone locked into one easily defendable room. Shane, you, me and Glenn can go out and find some gas. Daryl can scout the area, make sure there isn’t anyone nearby, maybe see if anyone got away. T-Dog and Dale will stay close and ensure everyone is safe.”

“You really comfortable leaving a killer to hang around with Lori and Carl?” Shane demands, looking at Rick and refusing to back down. 

Rick grimaces. “Yeah, we’ll deal with that before we head on out,” he finally concedes. “Come on, let’s get everyone inside. The storage room, right off the garage. There weren’t any bodies in there at least.”

Everyone is escorted to the dusty old room, only one camping lamp brought along for light. Shane doesn’t even let himself look at Jenner, who carries that little girl in his arms like he didn’t try to murder her just a few hours ago. The doctor huddles down in the back of the room, T-Dog hovering over him like he expects Shane to attack at any moment. Mouse sits in his lap, but at least Lori and Carol keep their distance, keeping a tight rein on their children. Andrea, on the other hand, sinks down beside Jenner, stiffening when Dale walks over to stand nearby.

“Glenn,” Rick says, glancing around at everyone. “Could you cover the door? Keep an ear out in case Daryl shouts.”

“Yeah,” Glenn agrees nervously. “I’m on it.” He steps over to the door, cracking it open so he can catch a glimpse of the garage outside.

“Okay,” Rick steps to the center of the store room, commanding everyone’s attention with his presence alone. “I think we need to address the elephant in the room, so to speak.”

“The psycho-killer, you mean?” Shane demands.

“Wanting to die doesn’t make you a psychopath!” Andrea stands up, her expression twisted with fury. “And you’re one to talk, Shane. Holding a gun on a little girl? That takes a real monster if you ask me.”

“A monster?!” Shane bellows, storming forward. Dale steps between them, but he isn’t tall enough to block Shane off completely. “A monster locked us in that damn facility to die! A monster that’s in here, right here, right now! I got us out of there, me! If I hadn’t done—”

“We’ll talk about that later,” Rick shouts, grabbing Shane’s shoulder and pulling him back. Shane shakes him off, pacing away and breathing hard. Andrea rolls her eyes, sinking back to the ground and staring blankly at the far wall. 

“We need to discuss what to do now,” Rick continues, looking at everyone before he adds, “Whether we go our separate ways, or let Doctor Jenner join the group.”

“What the hell?!” Shane demands at the same moment T-Dog says, “You can’t seriously be considering kickin’ him out! He has a little girl!”

“He has a—” Shane throws up his hands. “Man, he shouldn’t be looking after anything! He wanted us dead, there ain’t no question about what the hell we do. We shoot his ass and be done with—”

A high pitched shriek shatters the air, and Mouse begins to thrash. She writhes half out of Jenner’s grip, throwing herself over the doctor to shield him with her body.

“Shane,” Rick mutters tiredly. “How about you go take watch, ask Daryl to come inside.”

Shane glares at his brother, gripping his gun hard. With a quick nod, he heads for the door, pushing it open hard enough that it slams into the wall before swinging back shut. 

“What the fuck?” Daryl snaps, peeking inside the garage with a scowl. “Mind keeping it the fuck down?”

“Rick wants you inside,” Shane grunts, stepping past him and leaning against the wall. 

“Whatever,” Daryl shrugs as he heads into the garage.

It’s some time before anyone emerges. Shane can faintly hear the murmur of voices, but not enough to make out words. No walkers approach, no people either. Finally Daryl, Rick and Glenn exit the room, the latter two looking exhausted, Daryl as indifferent as ever. 

“Daryl, you find any survivors, bring ‘em back here, alright?” Rick instructs. The hunter nods before heading out of the courtyard they parked their vehicles in.

“Glenn, could you give us a minute?” Rick asks. The kid heads over to the entrance to stand watch. Shane grimaces, rubbing a hand over his face and waiting for the lecture he knows is coming. 

“Jenner’s staying with us.”

Shane looks up, an alarm braying in his ears. His hands tremble, and he has to clench his fists to make it stop. 

“He has a little girl, and no one wants to separate them.” Rick sighs, looking away as he adds, “I don’t think it would be possible to separate them. She doesn’t know us, doesn’t trust us, and she was willing to run back down into that facility and die if it meant being with him.”

“So kick them both out,” Shane insists, but he knows it's useless. Rick won’t be moved by common sense. “Look man, she’s gonna die out here anyways. Kids like that had it bad enough before, okay? You— Look we can’t save everyone, just throw them out and be done with it.”

“We can’t leave a special needs little girl with only one suicidal man to watch out for her,” Rick tries to explain, his expression pure exhaustion.

“Is this a fuckin’ joke?” Shane growls. “Because I’m not joking around here, all I want to do is make sure Lori and Carl make it through this alive. We don’t need some crazy son-of-a-bitch hanging around who might decide to shoot us all in the middle of the night.”

Rick shakes his head, breathing hard. “I… You’re right.” He finally says, staring into the distance with grief shining in his eyes. 

Shane blinks, barely able to believe what Rick has just said. Ever since Rick came back, they’ve been at odds. He hates Rick for it, but hates himself even more. Hearing the other man say he’s right, he doesn’t know what to feel.

“Did I even thank you?” Rick continues softly. “We’d have all died down there if you hadn’t…” He shudders, rubbing his face tiredly. “I… I know you wouldn’t have shot her. You got us out of there, and I don’t think I’ll ever be able to thank you enough for that, for keeping them safe while I was…”

“Ya don’t gotta thank me,” Shane mutters, looking away and swallowing hard.

“I do,” Rick insists. “I do, and I am.” He sighs dejectedly. “But we’re gonna lose half the group if we kick Jenner out.”

Shane looks at Rick disbelievingly, but his expression is just as tired and uncompromising as before.

“Dale said he won’t let them be out there on their own, and T-Dog insisted he has to take responsibility for his own actions. Glenn looked torn, but he’s closest to Dale, and considering how Andrea defended him, I’m pretty sure we’d lose her too.”

“Fuck.” It’s the only thing Shane can think to say. What the hell is wrong with these people? Do any of them want to fucking live? Since it’s not like they can rely on Daryl, he’d have thrown the crazy hick out ages ago if he weren’t providing so much food, that would leave him and Rick looking after Lori, Carol, Sophia and Carl. He grunts in acknowledgement, glaring at the ground. 

“Now,” Rick squares his shoulders and lets out another sigh. “We’ve just gotta live with it. We need the others, and we can keep an eye on Jenner between the two of us. Let’s go find some diesel. Glenn knows the area, he’ll tell us where to go.”

“I’ll follow your lead,” Shane agrees. He trails after Rick, trying to focus on their surroundings instead of the sick feeling in his gut. He does feel better after hearing his partner’s train of thought, but that alarm doesn’t stop ringing, and he can feel Mouse’s glassy eyes on him no matter how far he goes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! As always any and all feedback appreciated so long as it is politely worded! 
> 
> I don't have any questions today, but I need to recommend a story that is not in fact fanfiction. [I work at an amusement park. Only half of the monsters here are paid actors](https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/fn577x/i_work_at_an_amusement_park_only_half_of_the/) is the first post/chapter of a delightful little horror story that I can't recommend enough. It's all available to read for free, each subsequent chapter is linked to at the bottom of its post! Enjoy!


	5. Graveyard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Edwin and Mouse start to adjust to life with the group, but naturally nothing can go easily.

Edwin spends his first night out of the CDC shaking with fear. He’s been awake for at least forty-eight hours, and it's hard to focus his vision or to pay attention to what anyone around him says. He’s distantly aware that T-Dog, Dale, and Andrea have designated themselves as his guards; one of the three is always nearby. He wants to say he’s grateful, but all he can feel is terror.

The only point of light in the fog of fear surrounding him is Mouse. She’s far more awake than he is, more aware. Where he has shrunken in on himself unable to do more than mumble incoherent responses to questions he can’t remember, she blooms. Tentatively, she ventures forward, accepting whatever small rations they are due, and forcing him to eat with a stubborn glint in her eyes. When she isn’t nestled against his side, he sits there and grits his teeth against tears, only reassured when he can feel her curled in his arms.

He passes out eventually and comes to spread across a double-sized bed, gently swaying with the subtle bumps and turns of a moving vehicle. He sits up in a daze, head pulsing and mouth dry. It’s an effort to get onto his feet, but he pulls it off somehow. Rubbing his head, he stumbles to the curtain, pulling it aside and stepping out into a narrow hall that leads to the main living area of an RV. 

Andrea is sitting on the small couch, watching the trio who settled at the tiny dining table. T-Dog is across from Glenn and Mouse, both he and Glenn holding a hand of cards. 

“What do you think?” Glenn shows Mouse his hand, grimacing visibly.

“Man,” T-Dog shakes his head and chuckles. “You have got to get a better poker face.”

Glenn gives the other man an exasperated look as Mouse narrows her eyes down at the cards. Before she can make a call, T-Dog notices Edwin standing in the hall.

“Hey, doc!” He puts his cards down and gestures him to come forward. “Looks like you finally caught up on your beauty sleep.”

The moment T-Dog speaks, Mouse shoots up from the table. She whips around and dashes forward, throwing her arms tight around his waist. Edwin catches her, crouching down and returning the hug with a breathless whimper. Just having her against his chest is enough to ease the tension between his shoulders. 

“Come sit down,” Andrea offers, scooting to make room on the couch. 

Unsteadily, Edwin follows her advice, settling onto the couch and reluctantly releasing Mouse when she tugs away. She darts over to the kitchen counter, climbing up onto it to get access to the cupboard above.

“Whoa hey, Mouse!” Glenn scrambles up from his seat, abandoning his cards. “What did we say earlier about climbing?”

She shoots Glenn a scowl and pulls the cupboard open. She climbs back down with a half-empty water bottle which she brings over to Edwin, ignoring the bewildered look Glenn gives her.

“I guess she considers taking care of her scientist more important than following instructions,” T-Dog laughs. “Just take a few sips though, okay? We’re running pretty low.”

“I…” Hesitantly Edwin accepts the bottle, glancing around at the others. “I shouldn’t—”

“Don’t be a martyr,” Andrea narrows her eyes. “The kid climbed a counter for you, Jenner. Drink up.”

It takes him a moment to catch the flash of amusement in her expression. Edwin nods, giving Mouse a fond smile and forcing himself to take a few sips.

“I’ll get it,” Glenn takes the bottle and returns it to the cupboard while Mouse makes herself comfortable on Edwin’s lap. She slings her arms around his chest and buries her face into his neck. Edwin lets himself slump, clutching at her and shivering.

“How long was it since you slept?” T-Dog asks as Glenn settles back down across from him.

“I don’t know,” Edwin admits, rubbing at his eyes. “Probably at least sixty hours. I had uh, I hadn’t slept for— for at least twenty-four hours before— before you all arrived.”

“Wait,” Glenn frowns. “But, you slept that night, right?”

The silence is broken by Andrea snorting. “No Glenn, he did not. Obviously.”

Glenn blushes, ducking his head down. Edwin swallows, running a hand down Mouse’s back to soothe his nerves before he speaks.

“I wasn’t exactly obvious about it,” he points out, giving Glenn a small smile. “I didn’t want anyone to know. Anyways, how long did I sleep?”

“About twelve hours,” T-Dog chimes in, nodding to him. “Sounds like it was needed.”

“Yeah,” Edwin admits with a chuckle. “I can’t really remember much past the explosion. I don’t even remember coming in here.”

Mouse whimpers, hugging him even harder. He squeezes her back, letting out a shaky breath and resting his chin on top of her head.

“So uh,” Glenn glances up, biting his lip nervously. “Locking us in, was that because you were sleep deprived or…”

The friendly atmosphere evaporates, leaving Edwin’s chest constricting into a brittle icy ball. He struggles to sort his thoughts, to think of some way to apologize for what he nearly did.

“Oh, so that’s the excuse you’re gonna go with?”

Edwin’s head snaps up, rage rushing up in a wave as he catches sight of Shane hovering in the entryway to the driver’s cab. The cop’s dark eyes narrow, anger radiating from every inch of him.

“Knock it off, Shane.” Andrea snaps. “Or are you going to be that annoying little bitch who never lets anything go?”

Shane’s fists clench. “What, you’d have been okay with him trying to kill Amy?”

There’s a moment of shocked silence in the RV. Andrea’s face drains of color, before her cheeks flush with fury. 

“Of course I wouldn’t,” she hisses, scrambling to her feet in order to place herself between Shane and Edwin. “The point is, it's done. It happened. He didn’t kill us, get over it. If any of us is going to make it, we’re only going to pull it off by working together. So get with the program, or get out. Me?” She laughs bitterly, shaking her head and staring at the far wall. “I wanted out. I had that choice taken away from me. So here I am, but you don’t see me throwing a fit every chance I get.”

Silence descends, thick and heavy like a hot day where the air is so humid it fogs. After a moment, Edwin takes a deep breath, focusing his gaze on Glenn and trying to dismiss the angry cop nearby.

“I don’t know why I did it,” he lies. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, and I know that’s not enough. Rick— Rick wouldn’t have been wrong to kick me out. But I— I’m never going to be separated from Mouse. She’s—”

He stops, shuddering hard. Her arms squeeze him, and she shifts up enough to press a kiss to his cheek. He huffs out a laugh, burying his face into her tangled curls to hide the tears that are already welling in his eyes.

Shane snorts, stopping by the kitchenette long enough to grab a sip from the bottle of water they’re all sharing before he heads back up to the front. A murmur of low voices is followed with the RV slowing down and stopping. When the speed picks back up Dale emerges from the front, glancing around the group, his gaze lingering on Andrea.

“Glenn, do you think you could go up and help Shane navigate—” Dale begins to say. 

“I’ll do it,” Andrea brushes past Dale coldly. Dale starts to reach for her before letting her go with a sigh. He moves to the couch, sitting beside Edwin.

“Sorry about the rough welcome,” Dale mutters, glancing towards the front and shaking his head. “Just so you know, we don’t all think like the meathead.”

Edwin smiles involuntarily. “It’s fine. Everyone has been more than accommodating.”

“Well that’s good,” Dale grins, leaning forward to get a peek at Mouse. “How’s our littlest member holding up?”

Mouse shifts so she can shoot Dale a thumbs up before she returns to hiding against Edwin’s side.

“I guess she’s good,” Edwin smiles down at her. He strokes her hair, feeling her relax into his arms. 

“How old is she anyways?” Dale asks, straightening up and eyeing Glenn’s cards over his shoulder. “Glenn, that hand is—”

“Yeah— Yeah I know,” Glenn groans, dropping the cards and his face down onto the table’s top. “Ugh…”

“She’s twelve,” Edwin shares. “She told me on her hands, a few days before you all arrived.” When Dale opens his mouth, Edwin cuts him off. “I’m not sure how long she was there with me. Everything got blurry towards the end. I wasn’t sleeping well, or eating really. Maybe a week? I don’t think it was much longer than that.”

“Well, Miss Mouse,” Dale waits for her to lift her head and nod, giving him the go ahead. “Can you write?” She nods, but when he reaches for a notepad Edwin feels her stiffen.

“Selective Mutism is— complicated,” Edwin hurries to explain, rubbing Mouse’s back to reassure her. “Mouse wouldn’t respond to anything I said at first. Not even with gestures. It took her about a day to do anything more than nod or shake her head.

“She’ll probably be up to writing things down soon,” he continues after a moment, “but I doubt she’ll manage right now.”  
  
“Well,” Dale frowns, trying to catch Mouse’s gaze and failing. “Would you at least like to try?” She shakes her head hard, and Edwin shrugs, giving Dale an apologetic look. 

“That’s alright,” Dale tucks the notepad back where he’d pulled it out from under the couch. “We have it for later when you’re ready.”

“Dale,” Shane calls out from the cab. “Need you up front.”

Tension floods the RV, and Dale stands swiftly. “Just stay where you are,” he reassures the rest of them, his voice shaky with nerves. “Whatever it is, we’ll handle it.”

Even in the main living portion of the RV, the rest of them can hear Dale’s, “Oh jeez,” loud and clear. The RV pulls to a halt, and the roar of Daryl’s motorcycle approaches. 

“See a way through?” Dale asks, and since the RV begins to pull forward he must have indicated there was.

As they drive on, Edwin finally sees the cause of alarm. There are countless cars strewn about the highway, crashed together, flipped, or simply abandoned. Most are empty, but bodies hang out the opened windows or doors of a few, sprawled wherever they fell. He cups the back of Mouse’s head, holding her against his neck and murmuring, “Don’t look.”

“I’ll— I’ll go see if I can help,” Glenn mutters, face green as he abandons his cards.

While T-Dog puts the game away, Glenn suggests they take a bypass. Dale’s assertion that they don’t have the fuel leaves Edwin’s chest tightening with fear. No fuel will mean no vehicles, which would leave them stuck on foot. 

The shrieking of steam exploding into the air makes Edwin jump. Dale’s muttered, “God damnit…” is not encouraging. The RV rolls to a stop, and the engine’s rumbling ceases.

“Dead in the water…” Dale mutters as he comes out of the driver’s cab, heading straight for the door outside. Everyone else follows, and hesitantly, Edwin does the same.

“Stay close,” he orders Mouse, edging up to the door and peeking outside. Most of the group has gathered around the front of the RV where Dale is ranting about them being in the middle of nowhere. Daryl brushes past everyone, making for the opened back of a sedan. He starts rifling through the abandoned luggage of people who are more than likely dead.

“Okay, that was dumb,” Dale mumbles, glancing out at the countless cars before them with a glint of interest in his eyes.

“If you can’t find a radiator hose here…” Shane shrugs his shoulders.

“Can find a whole bunch of stuff,” Daryl grunts, ripping open an abandoned packet of crackers and stuffing a few into his mouth.

“I can siphon some more fuel from these cars for a start,” T-Dog points out, his expression easing into a slight grin. 

The people in the vehicle following them join the crowd, edging forward to assess the situation. “Some water, maybe?” Carol suggests.

Sophia offers Mouse a smile and a wave. Mouse blushes, hiding her face into Edwin’s side, before she returns the wave with a small one of her own.

“Yeah, and food,” Glenn suggests, eyeing Daryl’s crackers longingly. The hunter snorts, twisting to throw the packet to the young man.

Glenn catches it with a yelp, mumbling thanks to which Daryl waves a hand dismissively. “Hey kids,” the young man grins. “Want something to eat?”

Sophia and Carl dart forward, pulling out of their mothers’ grips and holding out their hands. Mouse hesitates at his side, but Edwin takes a deep breath, pushing her forward and stepping out onto the asphalt.

“Go on,” he tells her with a smile. “Get a bite, you must be starving.”

With his permission, she doesn’t hesitate. She rushes up to Sophia’s side, holding out her hands for Glenn to place the crackers in. Glenn divides them out between all four of them, three crackers a piece, and he eats them nearly as fast as Sophia and Carl. 

Mouse is more cautious, chewing slowly and grimacing in distaste. While she’s still working through her first cracker, Sophia and Carl are licking their fingers clean.

“This—” Lori steps forward, interrupting the spreading cheer with an uncertain look on her face. “This is a graveyard.” She fidgets in place, shaking her head as she adds, “I don’t know how I feel about this.”

It takes a moment, but soon everyone returns to what they were doing. No one acknowledges what Lori said, except for Mouse who stares with uncertainty down at her crackers. 

Edwin steps up to her, stroking her cheek to get her attention. “I’m sure they’d want you to eat, whoever left them.” He smiles at her tightly, his nerves easing when she finally nods. She returns to munching on them slowly, offering him one, but he shakes his head. 

“You eat up, I’ll be okay.”

“Oh God, don’t look, kids,” Carol mutters as she and Lori begin checking the back of a car. Edwin thinks it's a lost cause, but he understands the sentiment. There are bodies everywhere, though thankfully none of them appear to be moving. 

“Mouse, come here,” Sophia calls softly, digging into a suitcase. “I think these clothes will fit us.”

Sophia is an inch or so taller than Carl, who tops Mouse by a not insignificant amount, but both girls are stick thin. Edwin watches them closely as they crouch down over the case, picking through the clothes and setting some to the side.

“How old is she?” Lori asks, her gaze darting between the two girls and her boy.

“Um, twelve,” Edwin says, chuckling at the disbelieving look in her eyes. “It’s what she told me, a day or so before you all arrived.”

“She’s small,” Carol mutters, frowning at her daughter. “Sophia, stay close okay?”

“You too, Carl,” Lori adds.

Edwin wanders between the cars, keeping Mouse in sight. Dale has Glenn working on the RV, and Shane is keeping a close eye on him. The cop’s eyes occasionally wander towards Edwin, his lips twisted with disgust. Even if he can’t blame Shane for forcing his hand to free the group, the anger he feels whenever he remembers that gun pointed towards Mouse outweighs any rational reasoning.

“Jenner,” Rick calls out from where he’s keeping watch by the RV. “Could you come over for a moment? Want to talk.”

He looks towards Mouse worriedly, but Carol catches his gaze. “We’ll take care of her, don’t worry.” She offers him a tight smile before returning her attention to the car she’s going through. 

“Mouse,” he calls, waiting until she looks up. “Stick right by Sophia, okay? And listen to Carol and Lori.” She nods, and he drags himself away, heading over to Rick.

“Just wanted to ask how you’re holding up,” Rick begins, keeping his voice low enough that no one will overhear them. “You slept for quite awhile.”

“Well, like I was telling the others,” Edwin shuffles uncomfortably. “You’re considered legally insane after three days without sleep, so if there was still a functional legal system…” Edwin tries to laugh, but it sounds forced even to himself. He sighs and rubs his face. “Look, I’ll be fine.”

Rick nods, checking his gun and not quite looking him in the eye. “Did Shane bother you?”

“He doesn’t like me,” Edwin rolls his shoulders, glancing back towards Mouse. “I get it.”

“You don’t like him either,” Rick states. Edwin tenses, but Rick waves a hand dismissively. “If Shane ever pointed a gun at Carl, I’d shoot him myself. I get it, but we all need to work together. Can I count on you?”

Edwin grimaces, nodding tightly and unsure if he’s lying or not. “Mouse needs me.”

“She does,” Rick agrees. He frowns at Edwin, then gestures to the RV. “Why don’t you lay down. I know,” he stops him when he starts to protest. “I know you just got up, but even twelve hours doesn’t make up for ‘legally insane.’” He gives Edwin a smirk. “We’ve got everyone covered. If we’re going to trust you, you have to trust us.”

“Okay,” Edwin agrees with a shaky chuckle. He looks to Mouse, who smiles as Sophia holds a shirt up to the sun. “Just, tell her where I am if…” 

“No one wants to keep you two apart,” Rick insists with a warm smile.

Rick isn’t correct, but Edwin lets it slide. He steps inside the RV and finds Andrea sitting on the couch, staring at nothing. 

“Gonna lie down,” he explains quietly. He heads back to the bedroom, collapsing onto the bed and closing his eyes. Even though he just got up, exhaustion tugs at his limbs. It’s easy to sink into the mattress, an arm thrown over his head. 

He’s half asleep when a terror stricken gasp draws his eyes back open. 

_“Jenner!”_

He blinks his eyes open, struggling back up from the half-sleep he’d already drifted into. Andrea crawls under the curtain, her face white with fear. Cautiously, he sits up, looking around to see what’s going on. 

Outside the RV, infected stream passed, bumping the sides of cars before stumbling onward. He stares in horror, his throat constricting into a knot of terror.

Mouse is out there. There are dozens, no, more than a hundred. Mouse is out there.

“What do we do?” Andrea hisses, clutching a gun in trembling hands, “Oh my God, what do—”

“Put it down!” Edwin crawls over to her and pushes the gun towards the ground. “You can’t fire that! It will draw them all in, we’d be swarmed!”

Andrea whimpers, cowering against the bed and looking around wildly. He struggles to think, his heart in his throat. Mouse, she’s out there somewhere, she’s out there with those things.

“Where are the knives?” He asks, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Andrea points to the front of the RV. Crouching as low as he can, Edwin makes his way up to the kitchenette. 

The RV’s door is open. 

He freezes in place, staring at it with wide eyes. Infected stumble past, heedless. He can’t close the door, it would attract attention, and if one starts clawing at it, more will follow suit. He backs away as slowly as he can. 

“The bathroom,” he whispers when he reaches Andrea, helping her stand. “If we squeeze, we’ll both fit.”

They cram themselves in side by side, Edwin holding the door shut with an outstretched arm. Andrea settles onto the toilet seat, pressing her legs into the door. She clutches the gun in a white knuckled grip.

“Don’t,” Edwin repeats at a whisper. “Please, if it goes off, that will be worse.”

She bites her lip, nodding slowly. She lowers the gun, setting it down within easy reach, but at least not holding onto it like it will do them any good. 

The rustle of scraping feet, and the soft thumps of infected bumping off the RV continue for what feels like hours. It’s deathly silent outside until a rattle of something entering the RV reaches their ears. Andrea whines in the back of her throat, and without fully understanding why Edwin reaches for her hand. They hold onto one another shaking in mutual terror as unsteady footsteps thud closer.

It’s just outside the bathroom. Edwin closes his eyes and holds his breath. He can’t say how long it is before the footsteps wander away but at last he breathes out, shaking hard.

“Oh my God,” Andrea whispers against his arm, tears running down her cheeks. “Oh God…”

The footsteps become fewer, but Edwin does not dare step out. He shivers in place, breathing raggedly. If he emerges too soon, he’ll doom everyone, drawing them back before they make their way on.

Footsteps, these ones rushing and frantic. “Andrea?” It’s Dale, his voice pitched low but urgent. Edwin relaxes, releasing the bathroom door with a groan.

“We’re in the bathroom, Dale,” Andrea calls out. She lowers her legs, bending to scoop her gun back up as Edwin gets the door open. He spills out of the cramped space, followed by Andrea. He’s already looking around, because he’d have heard the screams if anything went—

“Mouse?” She’s not with Dale. He’d assumed she would be, of course she would be after a scare like that. 

The color drains from Dale’s face. He lifts up a hand. “Dr. Jenner, I think you should sit—”

He shoves his way past Dale, sprinting for the front, uncaring if it's actually safe outside or not. He comes out onto the highway, his breath tight in his chest, eyes wide as he looks for her. His gaze passes over the various adults of the group, Carol in Lori’s arms, her eyes wide and reddened. 

“Mouse?” Edwin asks, keeping his voice low, spinning in place. “Mouse?!”

“She— She was hiding with Sophia!” Carl says, his eyes wide with fear. “They went into the—” Wordlessly, the boy points.

Edwin’s gaze falls onto the thick forest that edges the highway, and the bottom drops from his stomach. The woods. She went into the woods. Edwin lunges forward, scrambling over the metal divider. He left her with them for a minute!

His shoelaces catch between the metal struts. He has enough time to think of all the ways he could have prevented this, and no time to stop himself from falling head over heels down the steep incline.


	6. Of Lions and Lambs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenner despairs. Carl learns something about the doctor, and is determined to find their missing members.

There is nothing anyone can do to stop the doctor from spilling down the slope and landing hard on one leg at the bottom. His pained cry is audible all the way up on the highway, and even though Carl cannot see, he winces, trembling against his mother’s side.

“Goddamnit,” Daryl mutters, coming over from where he left T-Dog by the RV. “Glenn, give me a hand. Looks like our ‘doctor’ decided to get himself hurt.” 

Daryl jumps over the divider as Glenn starts forward. Carl glances up at his mom, and seeing her absorbed with comforting Carol, he slips over to see what’s going on.

Daryl helps the scientist up, but Jenner isn’t cooperating. “I— I’m fine,” he whimpers, struggling to stand on his own even though he gasps out in pain whenever his foot comes down. “No, I— Mouse— She— I have to—”

“Rick’ll bring ‘em back,” Daryl growls, hoisting Jenner’s arm over his shoulder. “Stop making such a fuss, s’just the woods.”

Jenner tries to pull away as Glenn starts down the incline, and with an irritated look, Daryl finally gives the doctor what he wants. Jenner’s leg gives out the moment he’s released, and the man begins to sob.

Glenn crouches beside him, but Carl can’t hear what he’s saying. After a moment, the doctor nods, allowing the Korean to help him to his feet. Together, he and Daryl guide Jenner back to the highway.

Carl follows along as they half carry Doctor Jenner to the RV where Dale is cleaning a vicious looking cut on T-Dog’s arm. Carl’s chest tightens with horror and fascination as he takes in the blood staining T-Dog’s clothes. The broad-shouldered man is gray-faced and shaking. 

Jenner stops in place, staring at T-Dog’s arm with wide eyes. “He— He isn’t—”

“Ain’t bit,” Daryl grunts, forcing the scientist forward and guiding him to the ground against the RV’s side. “Cut his arm is all.”

“Car door…” T-Dog shakes his head. “World ends… A goddamn car door…”

Carl hovers nearby, listening in as the adults speak without reservation. Nobody notices him peeking around the front of the RV, and with a glance, he confirms that his mom is too busy holding Carol to notice what he’s doing.

“What happened?” Andrea emerges from the RV with clean rags.

“Doctor threw himself off a fuckin’ cliff. Sprained ankle probably,” Daryl explains. “Gonna make sure none of them walkers is circlin’ back.”

As Daryl heads off, Dale shakes his head at Dr. Jenner. “What did you go and do that for?” He grabs the rags from Andrea to replace the already soaked ones on T-Dog’s arm. “Rick will be right back, you don’t need to worry.”

“Back?” Andrea looks around. “Why is Carol—” Her gaze drops to Jenner, and then her eyes widen. “Oh, God…”

“Quit fussing! Both of you,” Dale insists. “Andrea, could you see if there’s something we can brace the doctor’s ankle with? I should still have some sports wraps in there somewhere…”

“I’ll get it!” Carl pops around the side of the RV, ducking under Andrea’s arm. He sprained his ankle his first week at the quarry, and Dale leant them some gear to support it. He kept aggravating it because he wanted to be out running around until his mom made him stay inside the RV for a few days straight. At least Sophia hung around and played cards with him.

He hurries into the RV’s bathroom and climbs on top of the toilet, jerking open the topmost cupboard and rummaging around until he finds the right box. Andrea has just caught up as Carl climbs down, passing the box over to the startled woman. 

“Here you go!” Carl grins at her. She produces a faint smile, and he follows her back out of the RV, pleased that he was able to help.

“Carl!”

He sighs, easily recognizing his mom’s voice and that tone. With a scowl, he twists around, turning to face her.

“Yeah, Mom?” He wasn’t even doing anything wrong! He was only out of her line of sight to get something out of the RV. She can’t be mad when he goes in the RV to help someone, right?

“Come over here,” Lori says, holding a hand out to him. “I don’t want you so far away.”

Carl rolls his eyes. “Mom, I just went in the RV to get the ankle brace. I was only in there for like—”

“Do as your mom says, Carl.” Shane comes around the side of the RV, glowering at Jenner as Dale applies the brace to his ankle.

Carl ducks his head, heading over to his mom. He doesn’t understand what he did. He knows he doesn’t always listen, but he’s just trying to help. 

“Thanks, Sweetie,” his mom says, running a hand over his hair. “Just stay close to me, okay?”

Carl does what his mom wants, bored and anxious as they wait for his dad to come back. Shane brings them water, as well as tissues for Carol to clean her face. Glenn drops by to pass out food, but Carol puts hers away for Sophia. 

Eventually, Doctor Jenner joins them and suddenly his mom has schoolwork for him. Frustrated that she’s thinking about that now, Carl complies nevertheless. Still, he refuses to do homework inside the RV, so his mom lays out packets on the front of an abandoned car, and Carl’s attention splits between math problems and glancing at the forest.

He isn’t the first to spot Rick emerging from the woods. It’s Carol’s distraught whine that alerts him. Carl sprints to the divider, his eyes lighting on his dad as he struggles up the steep hill. 

“Dad!” He scrambles over the metal rail, falling into his father’s arms as Rick makes it to the top. His dad hugs him loosely, but his attention is on something else. He scans the road, his eyes widening with growing alarm.

“You didn’t find ‘em?” Shane demands as he approaches. 

“No,” Rick denies, his grip on Carl tightening. “They— I had ‘em hide from— from the walkers while I— They should be here!” 

Daryl comes forward at once, hefting his crossbow. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go already. Come on!”

Jenner turns away from the woods, wandering off with a noticeable limp. His mom hugs Carol, telling her everything is going to be fine. Carl lets go of his father reluctantly, watching him vanish back into the woods now with Shane, Daryl and Glenn to back him up. They’ll be back soon though, with Sophia and Mouse both.

With his mom distracted, he wanders into the cars. Jenner has pulled a suitcase from one of them, slowly filling it with odd items. Clothing, food, anything that looks useful and not too badly damaged. The doctor drags it along with him to the next car, freezing when he opens the back and finds a plush unicorn toy on top of the jumble of packed belongings.

Sophia has that doll Eliza gave her, but Carl doesn’t think Mouse has anything at all. Whenever he sees her, all she does is cling to Jenner, that and the edge of the too-big sweater Dale put her in. She rubs the hem between her fingers, and sometimes sucks on the collar unless someone tells her to stop. 

“Hey— Um, Mr. Jenner?” Carl steps forward, startling the doctor out of whatever thoughts he was having. His gaze flickers to Carl, before drifting back down to the unicorn in front of him.

“Do you think Mouse’d want like a teddy-bear?” Carl picks up the unicorn, then tosses it back onto the pile. “What’s her favorite animal?”

The doctor doesn’t respond, staring down at the toy for so long that Carl almost repeats himself.

“Lions.”

Carl is surprised; Mouse doesn’t seem like lions would be her favorite animal. Still, he figures people can have unexpected favorites. He really liked horses growing up, until someone told him that was a girl animal. He still likes horses though, he just keeps it to himself.

“Charlotte loved lions.” Jenner continues, his voice toneless. “She’d pretend to be Simba or Kiara. The Lion King was her favorite film.”

Carl frowns. He thought they didn’t know Mouse’s name. After a moment, he works up the courage to ask, “Who's Charlotte?”

Jenner twitches and looks at Carl in a daze, eyes wet with tears. 

“My daughter.” Jenner returns to staring at the unicorn.

Carl hesitates. He thought that the doctor was alone. He knows Mouse isn’t Jenner’s real daughter, but he's taking care of her now. It's why the group didn’t want to kick him out after the CDC. He had another child?

“Carl!”

He sighs, his shoulders deflating. With a shake of his head, he says, “I’ll talk to you later.” He can’t tell if the doctor heard him but he heads back to his mom regardless.

It doesn’t take long for Shane and Glenn to return without Daryl or his dad. Carol is distraught, and even though he isn’t as loud, Carl thinks that Jenner is as well. The doctor heads into the RV while Carol stays glued against the edge of the highway. Shane assigns everyone chores, conspicuously leaving Carol and Jenner out even though they aren’t hurt as bad as T-Dog.

Carl wanders between the cars, looking for something cool while the others go through them systematically. He’s about to dismiss one when he spots something sticking out from behind a child’s car seat. He pulls the door open, ignoring the smell of death from the corpse in the front. He leans in, grabbing the tail he spotted and pulling out a plush lion that would probably be most appropriate for a toddler.

It’s not new, but it's not in tatters. The eyes are missing, but it has a soft black nose, and a raggedy mane and tail with a cute puff. With a grin, he runs back to the RV, practically jumping up the stairs.

Jenner is sitting on the couch hunched over, his breath hitching audibly. Carl hesitates in the doorway, steeling himself before taking those last few steps and holding out the lion.

“Here.”

The doctor looks up, that same dazed expression on his face. He eyes the plushy uncomprehendingly.

“Um,” Carl shifts on his feet. “I know you didn’t tell me Mouse’s favorite animal, but I figure it doesn’t really matter. You can give this to her when my dad and Daryl bring her and Sophia back. I bet she’ll really like it, even if it isn’t her favorite, because it’s gonna be you giving it to her.”

Jenner accepts the plushy without a word, stroking the ragged mane. He makes a choked sound that could have been a ‘thank you’, but sounds closer to a sob. Carl shrugs his shoulders, and mutters that it's no big deal. As he heads back to the front, he can hear Jenner breaking down in tears.

Carl understands why Jenner is upset. If he didn’t know his dad the way he does, Carl thinks he’d be scared too. But his dad can do anything. He came back from the dead. Carl is disappointed when they return alone, but he knows that they’ll find Sophia and Mouse eventually. 

“Out in the dark’s no good,” Daryl tries to explain to Carol. She just cries and glares at Rick, her lips trembling with anger. Although he’d deny it if anyone asked, Carl is starting to get scared himself. He doesn’t want to think about sleeping out there in the woods with just another kid beside him.

“How could you leave her?”

His dad walks away, his head down and expression desolate. Carl wants to go after him, to tell him it's not his fault, no one else tried to go except Doctor Jenner, and he just tripped and hurt himself. His mom holds him back, the grip on his shoulder resolute.

“Come on,” she says, guiding him back towards the Cherokee. “We need to get some rest.”

“It’s not that late,” Carl protests, but his mother insists. He can only sigh as he’s drawn along and tucked up into the back of the car.

His dad comes back eventually, when the moon is low on the horizon. Carl pretends to be asleep as his parents whisper to one another. 

“We had a trail,” he says under his breath, his voice thick with tears. “We had it, but the dark… Daryl said it was better to start in the morning. They— They’d stick by the stream. It’s the only landmark. He said that…”

“You did everything you could,” Lori reassures him. “No one else tried to go.”

Carl frowns, stopping himself from correcting them. He’s asleep, or supposed to be. They’ll be mad if they realize he’s listening in.

“I shouldn’t have left them…” Rick whispers, his voice trembling. “Maybe—”

“Rick, you’ll drive yourself mad with the ‘what ifs’,” Lori says firmly. “We’ll all go out tomorrow, and we’ll find them.”

If his parents talk more, Carl doesn’t hear it. He wakes up uncomfortable, tired, and sick of being in the car. It’s barely light out, but when he squirms in place his dad sits up. He offers his dad a small wave, careful not to jostle his still sleeping mom, and his dad nods towards the door.

They get out, careful not to wake his mom up. Outside, the air is crisp, the cars covered in thin droplets of water. Carl stretches his back, reaching down for his toes with a groan. His dad comes around the car yawning, waving up towards the top of the RV. Daryl is up there on watch. He gives them a nod, before turning his gaze back towards the woods.

“When are we gonna head out?” Carl asks immediately after finishing the dry cheerios and water his dad passes him for breakfast. 

“Soon as everyone is up and armed,” Rick responds. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them today.”

“I know,” Carl rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s scared, but they're fine.”

Rick nods, ducking his head and not meeting Carl’s eyes. After a moment, he looks back up and smiles. “You’re right. They are.”

It feels like forever before everyone finally gets up. Jenner limps over to sit on the steps of the RV, listening in with blank eyes as Shane and Rick explain what the plan is. Daryl will take the lead, they’re all to arm themselves with the arsenal Carl found yesterday. Andrea is upset that most of them won’t have guns, and Carl gets it, but his dad and Shane know best.

Rick comes over to talk to Dale, and Carl listens with half an ear. He leans into his father’s side, shivering as he rubs a hand over his shoulders. Sometimes he wakes up and he’s certain his dad won’t be there. He knows he should be sad about everyone they lost at the quarry, and Jacqui, but it's hard. If someone had asked him to give all of them up just so he could have his dad back, he thinks he’d have said yes.

“Keep an eye on Carl while we’re gone.”

“What?” Carl looks at his dad incredulously. “No, I’m going with you.” He hardens his expression at the disbelieving look in his dad’s eyes. “You need people, right? To cover as much ground as possible.”

His mother raises her eyebrows, but she shrugs and leaves it to his dad. Carl already knows he’s won from the way his father sighs. He heads over towards the weapons, excitement building in his chest. Maybe his dad will even let him carry one?

Carl ends up with a wicked looking hunting knife he has to keep strapped to his belt. His mother looked uncomfortable, but in the end even she agreed that if he behaves himself today he can wear it all the time. He’s determined to make her proud because if he wants to be ready to protect his family, he needs this knife.

They hike for hours. Morning passes into afternoon with only snacks and sips of water. He tries to hide how tired he is, but he’s not the only one flagging. Glenn, Shane and Rick keep up Daryl’s pace the easiest, but the rest of them are unused to such rough terrain with no rest. The church bell ringing is the first real clue they get, until they arrive to find nothing but a battery run timer and a trio of walkers that his dad, Shane and Daryl put down.

The break they take there is longer than any before, though not enough to really catch their breath. At this point the sun is well past the middle of the sky, and although the adults try to keep their voices down, Carl doesn’t miss the worried conversations. 

Shane returns after talking to his dad, his expression determined. “Alright, y’all gonna follow the creek bed back, okay? Daryl, you’re in charge. Me and Rick, we’re just gonna hang back, search this area another hour or so just to be thorough.”

Daryl raises his eyebrows. “You’re splitting us up. You sure?”

“Yeah,” Shane nods as Rick comes to join them. “We’ll catch up to you.”

“I want to stay too.” Carl insists, looking first to his dad then his mom. “I’m Sophia’s friend.”

He doesn’t know Mouse yet, but she seems okay. Weird but not bad or anything. Sophia was the only one close to his age in camp, Louis was only six, and Eliza was barely nine. He and Sophia did almost everything together, unless Shane was around to play.

His mom takes a long look at him before pulling him into a hug. “Just be careful, okay?”

“I will.” He hugs her as hard as he can. He gets why she’s scared, but he’ll be with his dad and Shane. He doesn’t want to leave when he’s sure they’re going to find them. They’re going to find them and bring Sophia back to her mom and Mouse back to Jenner.

After the others leave, his dad heads back into the church while he and Shane wait for him on the steps. Carl feels antsy. He’s tired but he wants to get out there.

“You doing alright, bud?” Shane asks, bumping their shoulders together.

“Yeah,” Carl grins at him. “I’m good.”

“That’s good,” Shane nods, some of the exhaustion in his face fading. “That’s good. We got this.”

They head out into the woods, searching even as the shadows stretch longer and longer. No one says anything about heading back for a long time, and Carl is glad. They aren’t going back until they find them.

Shane stops, lowering his gun and letting out a tired breath. “Maybe we should think about heading back.”

Carl frowns, turning back to tell him they can’t.

The report of a gunshot tears through the silence. Birds screech, fluttering off into the sky. His father and Shane straighten up, their expressions hardening.

“Carl, stay behind me.” His dad snaps, letting Shane take the lead. They run through the woods, Carl staying just on his father’s heels. His heart hammers in his throat. Was that his mom? Are the other’s okay, are—

“Oh, God— Missy, Miss can you— can you hear me? Oh, God— No. Come on…”

They come upon a clearing, and come to a stop. There is a dead buck laying in the center, a clean shot through its torso. Just beside it, a large man hovers, his rifle laying on the ground by his feet. His hands are busy putting pressure down onto the middle of a little blond girl’s chest. Sophia.

He shot Sophia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated! Hope you're all hanging in there in these crazy times.


	7. Remember Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group arrive at the Green's farm and begin to settle in. Tensions are high with Mouse still missing and Sophia grievously injured, with further complications on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Potential trigger warning at the bottom that spoils events in the chapter.

The day drags on endlessly. Edwin cannot even help Dale or T-Dog with the RV or look for supplies with his injured ankle. He’s left to languish inside, sweat dripping down his neck, stale air swirling in the bedroom. He curls up and clings to the plush lion that Carl gave him, sliding fitfully in and out of sleep and feeling no more rested than the last time he was awake. Dale comes by at some point, coaxing him to drink and asking if he has any antibiotics. He tells him no, and drifts back into that hazy half-sleep, unable to bring himself to even care about why Dale asked.

“Shot?!”

He blinks sluggishly, lifting his head from a damp pillow. No matter the illogic of hope, some part of him crumples when he hears Dale’s incredulous voice. There is no Mouse rushing up to hug him.

“A woman came riding up on a horse and took Carol,” Lori explains. “We need to get to that farm. Carl and Rick are there, I have to go—”

“Slow down!” Dale demands. “What happened?”

“We weren’t there,” Glenn cuts in. “It’s— It’s like Lori said. This chick came out of nowhere like Zorro on a horse. I don’t even know. She said that Sophia had been shot and told Carol to come with her.”

Sophia. Mouse was with Sophia. Sophia’s been shot.

Edwin forces himself up, gasping for breath. He drags himself off the bed, staggering to his feet. His head feels full of cotton, his skin raw from tears. He comes up to the RV’s door just as Dale demands, “You let them take her?”

“Climb out of my ass, old man.” Daryl snaps. “She knew Rick’s name, Sophia’s and Carol’s. Hell she knew Carl’s name, it’s like Lori said, they’re at some farmhouse up the road.”

“Which is why we need to go there!” Lori shouts.

“Mouse.”

They all stop, turning to look at Edwin. He hovers in the doorway, using the wall to support his weight. 

“Mouse, did they…” He clears his throat.

“No,” Glenn says apologetically. “They didn’t say anything. But, we know Mouse was with Sophia, right? Maybe we can— we could backtrack from where they found her?”

“I’ll head up to the farm in the morning,” Daryl says. “Won’t be no point heading up now, it’ll be too dark to track by the time we get there.”

“Wait, wait,” Dale shakes his head. “We should all go there now, the group is split. That makes us vulnerable—”

“No!” Edwin doesn’t mean to shout, but he hasn’t meant to do many things lately. Everyone but Daryl flinches, shooting him wary glances. 

“I— No,” Edwin rubs his hand over his face. “We can’t just— What if she comes back, what if she…”

She isn’t coming back. She went into the woods with Sophia, Sophia’s shot. She went into the woods, and Sophia was shot. She isn’t— She…

“If Mouse found her way back, and we were gone,” Andrea shakes her head. “That would be awful.”

Daryl nods thoughtfully. “Okay. We got to plan for this. I say tomorrow morning is soon enough to pull up stakes. Give us a chance to rig a big sign, leave her some supplies. I’ll hold here tonight, stay with the RV.”

Dale shrugs. “If the RV is staying, I am too.”

Edwin tries to speak past the knot in his throat, to tell them there’s no point. Mouse is— There’s no point.

“I’m in,” Andrea adds. 

“Well,” Glenn begins. “If you’re all staying then I’m—”

“Not you, Glenn. You’re going.” Dale cuts him off. “Take Carol’s Cherokee.”

“What?” Glenn scowls. “Why me?” 

“We need to reconnect with our people,” Dale insists. “But more importantly, you have to get T-Dog there. This is not an option. That cut has gone from bad to worse. He has a very serious blood infection. Get him to that farm, see if they have any antibiotics. Because if not, T-Dog will die no joke.”

“Lori wants to go, she can—”

“Glenn,” Dale shakes his head. ”We can’t ask Lori to— to leave her son once she’s there, and Carol needs support! Someone needs to be there who can come back in case we need to communicate.” 

Edwin glances around, finally spotting T-Dog standing off from the others. He’s wrapped in a heavy blanket, hunched over and shivering. Guilt tightens in his chest. If he hadn’t tried to kill them all, if he’d warned them instead, they would have had time to loot the CDC for supplies. They’d have medicine, food, and countless other sundries.

He heads back into the RV and goes straight to the bed, curling onto his side and squeezing the lion. He doesn’t want to be here. Why her? Why can’t it have been him who was lost in the woods? No one would miss him. She’d get over him. Why did it have to be her?

Eventually, a car rumbles to life, the engine’s grumbling fading into the distance. The RV creaks and groans as Dale, Daryl and Andrea make their way inside. Edwin hides his face, shaking his head when Dale asks if he wants something to eat. There is a pit in his stomach twisted with pain, and the thought of swallowing anything is enough to make him gag.

* * *

In the morning, they move on like Daryl suggested. They paint words onto the windshield of a car, entreating Mouse to stay and assuring her they’ll come back. They leave food and water out beside it, then Daryl mounts his motorcycle to lead the way, while Dale takes the wheel of his RV.

The instructions this mystery girl gave are straightforward enough. Back down the highway two miles, then drive down until they reach the mailbox labeled Greene. They’re in the thick of farm country, golden and green fields left to grow wild stretch out on either side of the dirt road between encroaching patches of forest. They find the right driveway, unlock the gate and pull through, latching it shut behind them. The house they pull up to is picturesque in its perfection; grand and old, white walls and two stories with a wrap around front porch. The property is edged by woods with a stable for horses close to the forest and an old barn in the distance. 

Edwin would be in awe, he thinks, if he could feel anything at all beside the painful pulse inside his chest. Still, when Andrea folds her arms and gives him a stubborn look, he struggles up from the couch and stumbles outside to greet their new acquaintances.

There’s an old man at the front, dressed in what was once no doubt a pristine white shirt with suspenders holding up his brown slacks. Now it’s stained with blood, and the shadows beneath his eyes are dark. Beside him, there is a beautiful young woman with chestnut brown hair, and a smaller blonde girl who looks uncertain.

“Do any of you have O negative blood?” The old man demands before they can so much as say hello. They all stop in their tracks, and the bottom drops out of Edwin’s stomach.

“I’m A positive,” Dale hesitantly supplies. “I’m not sure if everyone knows their type—”

“No one has O negative blood,” Edwin says, his voice cracking as realization hits him.

The beautiful woman’s head drops forward, her shoulders hunching as she sighs. The blonde beside her covers her mouth, stepping closer and wrapping an arm around the girl who is most likely her sister. The brunette hugs her loosely.

“Are you sure?” The old man demands, his expression intent.

“I checked everyone’s type when we first met.” Edwin explains quietly. “I had the supplies so I— So I checked.”

“How is she?” Andrea steps forward, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Alive,” the old man says shortly. “I’m Hershel, these are my daughters, Maggie and Beth. Everyone else is inside. Excuse me.”

Hershel goes back into the house, leaving the rest of them alone to introduce themselves.

“Well,” Dale clears his throat, stepping up to the porch and offering his hand to the brunette. “I’m Dale. This is Andrea, Daryl and Doctor Jenner.”

“Maggie,” she shakes his hand stiffly, her gaze flickering to Edwin. “You’re a doctor?”

“Not the type you're thinking of,” Edwin answers the accusing gaze. “I am— was a virologist.”

Beth gasps, looking up excitedly. “You were? Do you know—”

“Not now, Beth.” Maggie cuts her younger sister off. “You must be starving. Come inside, we’ll get you something to eat.”

They’re brought in and introduced to three new faces, Patricia, who looks old enough to be Maggie’s mother, but is in fact married to Otis, a larger fellow with a guilty look in his eyes, and Jimmy, a teenage boy with freckles speckled across his sun-pinked skin.

“It’s my fault,” Otis admits as Patricia joins Maggie and Beth in the kitchen. “I didn’t see her…”

“Anyone could have done that,” Rick comes out of a room off to the side, shadows under his eyes. He lays a hand on Otis’s shoulder. “And you more than held your own last night.”

The large man shrugs, staring at the ground.

“What happened?” Dale demands as they gather in the living room. T-Dog stirs in a large chair, sitting upright with a groan. He looks better than he did yesterday, though as tired as any of them. 

“We were out looking for the girls,” Rick explains, shaking Glenn’s shoulder to wake the young man up. Glenn starts, looking around dazedly. When he sees them all, he gives a wave, sitting up to make room on the couch for the others to sit down.

“Heard a gunshot, then shouting,” Rick continues, sitting beside Glenn. “Found Otis holding pressure down on Sophia.”

“Was following a buck,” Otis adds mournfully. “I swear I didn’t— I didn’t see her.”

“Mouse—” Edwin manages to say.

“No sign of her,” Rick looks away, his fingers clenching into fists. “Last night, me, Shane and Otis, we all went up to a FEMA camp nearby, got some equipment for Sophia’s surgery.” 

“Well how did it go?” Dale demands. “Is Sophia going to be alright?”

There’s a moment of freezing silence that speaks for itself. Otis doesn’t look at anyone, but after a moment he shares, “We were hoping one of y’all on the highway would be a universal donor.”

“She’s strong,” Rick cuts in firmly. His face is pale, but his expression is one of determination. “She’ll make it.” He turns to Edwin and offers him a nod. “I’ll head back to the woods in an hour to look for Mouse, just need to get some maps of the area from Hershel.”

“I’ll go with you,” Otis adds at once. “I know the area I can— I can help you all look.”

“Not before you get some rest,” Patricia chimes in as she enters from the kitchen carrying a pair of bowls with her. She passes out hot oatmeal to her husband and Rick before going back for more.

“She’s right,” Maggie adds, passing around bowls from her own tray. “You both need to get a few hours of sleep. You’ll just get yourselves hurt if you go out right away.”

“I’ve been sleeping long enough,” Daryl stands up as he accepts the oatmeal. “Just give me the maps, show me where y’all found Sophia. I’ll head out right away.”

“Daryl, we can do this properly now that we have a base of operations,” Rick glances up with a frown. “You don’t have to go out there alone.”

“Like I said, got enough sleep last night,” Daryl sneers. 

“I’ll go with you,” Edwin sets the bowl he hasn’t touched aside. His stomach twists at the thought of food. Mouse hasn’t eaten since those crackers, she— He can’t.

“You’ll just slow me down, no offense,” Daryl says coldly. “Girl, get me them maps already. Daylight’s wastin’.”

Edwin slumps back onto the couch, staring at the rug. There’s a grandfather clock ticking in the background. The sound of cutlery clinking on china echoes in his ears. His eyes burn.

“The missing girl, she’s yours?” Otis inquires.

Edwin tries to respond, but he can’t make a sound. He shakes his head, unable to lift his face to look the other man in the eye.

“Doctor Jenner took Mouse in when her mother died,” Rick chimes in. “We don’t know her name. She hasn’t spoken at all since we met her.”

“Oh, my God,” Patricia says, stepping up beside her husband and gripping his shoulder. “That’s awful.”

Edwin stands up. His ankle throbs, but he limps over to the front door regardless. He doesn’t want to talk to these people, doesn’t want to deal with them. He wants to be out there looking, not in here.

He stops short when he sees into the room that Rick came out of. Carol is hovering over a bed with Lori standing behind her. Sophia looks tiny, spread out over the stained bedsheets with only a thin linen to cover her chest. Carol’s face has aged overnight, lined with grief and fear, her blue eyes red from crying. She looks up briefly, then away too fast for Edwin to process what she might be feeling.

He stumbles out the front door, his throat tight. When he sees how far away the RV is, he shudders, staggering to a chair set up on the porch instead. His fingers dig into his knees as the breeze lightly brushes his cheeks.

He’s vaguely aware of people coming and going. Daryl talks with Rick and Hershel over a map spread out on an old beaten up truck’s hood. Daryl heads out alone, while Rick and Hershel continue to speak.

“You’re Jenner, right?”

He looks up to Maggie, slowly nodding his head. She looks him over, a calculating look in her hazel eyes. “Is it true? You’re a virologist?”

“I—” He swallows to clear his throat. “Yes. I was.”

She nods. “Come inside. Don’t think I missed you not eating.”

He flinches, looking down at his hands. “I’m not hungry.”

“You think that girl would want you starvin’ yourself?”

Mouse offering him a cracker. Edwin’s shoulders hunch. He shakes his head. 

“So come inside,” Maggie holds the door, giving him a pointed look. 

It takes a long time for him to stand and stagger into the house. Maggie closes the door behind them then takes his arm, guiding him forward. At some point, most of the group vacated the farmhouse. He’d been vaguely aware of the tents sprouting up on the front lawn.

Maggie pushes him down into a chair at a long dining table, then heads off to the kitchen. Patricia is down at the end, drying off plates and cutlery that have already been washed. 

“Otis is resting,” she nods to him in greeting. “He’ll go out and find that girl in an hour or so. He knows the area better than anyone.”

Edwin nods, gripping the edge of the table as hard as he can. He feels like he’s about to float away, dissipate. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have left the CDC.

Maggie returns with an apple cut neatly into slices, along with a little dish of peanut butter. There’s a cheese sandwich, on actual bread spread with butter. 

“Eat,” she orders, sitting down nearby. She raises her eyebrows and folds her arms. “I’m not moving ‘til you do.”

Shakily, Edwin grabs a slice of apple. He forces himself to dip it into the peanut butter, raising it to his mouth and chewing mechanically. His body doesn’t feel like it exists. He can’t taste anything. He makes himself eat regardless, working his way through the meal in front of him. Maggie takes the plates when he’s done, vanishing back to the kitchen. When she returns, she isn’t alone, Beth at her side. Patricia left at some point, but he can’t remember when.

“Maggie,” Beth eyes Edwin excitedly. “Please?”

The older girl sighs, giving her younger sister a pointed look. Beth blushes, shifting uncomfortably on her feet. 

“It’s fine,” Edwin says flatly. He knows what they must want to know, what anyone would want to know. “You can ask.”

“You’re a virologist,” Maggie cuts to the point. “What can you tell us about the disease?”

“Not as much as you’d think,” Edwin sighs. “Don’t get bit or scratched. You probably already knew that.”

The girls glance at one another and nod. It’s Beth who asks, “What about a cure?”

Edwin snorts and shakes his head. “I doubt it.”

“Why?” Maggie demands.

Edwin sighs and rubs his face. Because he destroyed the best samples he had. Because it should have been him that died, and Candace who lived.

“Because the amount of resources, time, organization, and skills required to find one aren’t likely to be found together in any one place currently,” he finally says. “Any one of them? Sure. Two maybe even, but considering the current state of the world any cure will be long off.”

“But, it’s possible,” Beth insists, her eyes wide and hopeful.

“Sure,” Edwin shrugs. “I guess.”

Maggie frowns while Beth looks up at her excitedly. “Alright,” the elder sister finally says. “Your friends are setting up outside.”

He recognizes the dismissal for what it is. Slowly, he pushes himself up, wincing as he stands. 

“You hurt?” Maggie asks, her distant demeanor breaking into one of concern. 

“I twisted my ankle.” He shrugs. “I’ll be alright.”

They watch him leave, and this time he limps his way back to the RV. The windows are open, airing out the interior. Even so, it's uncomfortably warm inside. He can’t bring himself to care about the stale stench of sweat. He just staggers back to the bed and lays down, squeezing the lion tight in his arms.

He doesn’t get to rest long before the door creaks open. “Doctor Jenner?” Dale calls out, his footsteps thumping into the interior.

Edwin grimaces. With a sigh, he pushes himself up, rubbing his face. “In here.”

“Do you think you could come down to the Greene’s well with me?” Dale requests, twisting his hat in his hands. “We have something of a problem, could use your expertise.”

His expertise? Who needs his expertise? What good has any of his expertise done for any of these people? He was supposed to save the world, and he ruined _everything_. He just wants to sleep. He made a mistake, and he never should have come along. If he’d stayed behind, it would be done, he’d be done, it wouldn’t hurt anymore.

Mouse would try to help though, wouldn’t she? She wanted him to let them all in, even though she could barely stand to look at the strangers, could hardly eat in their presence. Being around them made her anxious, but she wanted to help them anyway.

“Yeah… sure.” Edwin reluctantly follows Dale out of the RV and across the yard to where a sizable crowd stands. As they get closer, the unmistakable growls of a walker become audible, echoing up from an old stone well dug into the ground.

“Maybe we should just shoot it?” T-Dog suggests, grimacing down at their water-logged problem.

“Whoa!” Maggie lifts her hands and shakes her head. “Guys, no.”

“Why not?” Glenn demands. “It’s a good plan.”

“It’s a stupid plan.” Andrea states with a roll of her eyes. “If that thing hasn’t contaminated the water yet, blowing its brains out will finish the job.”

“It’ll already be contaminated,” Edwin says as he reaches them, glancing briefly into the well. He’s glad he got up now. He might wish he was dead, but he wouldn’t wish turning due to contaminated water on anyone. “It’ll clear up eventually, but even if we get it out intact, I’d recommend relegating this well to use on cattle and crops.”

“It won’t infect the cattle?” Shane demands. He folds his arms, eyeing Edwin warily, but for once, his tone is not overtly hostile.

“Not enough to carry over to us,” Edwin explains. “Technically the water might even be safe for human consumption, but without proper equipment to test, the risk is too severe.”

“What about if a walker bites down on an animal?” Dale inquires. “There was a deer up near the camp we had outside Atlanta, Daryl took it down, but a walker got to it first.”

Edwin frowns as he thinks. “That one depends. If the deer was already dead when the walker bit into it, then it would probably be safe. If the animal was alive, there’d be a much higher risk due to blood circulation.”

“How high?” Andrea inquires curiously.

“Guys, this is really cool and all,” T-Dog quips. “But we have a god-damn walker in the well.”

“Right,” Shane nods, refocusing his attention onto the problem. “We’ll come back to that later, Doc.”

“Any ideas?” Andrea looks to Edwin pointedly. “We can’t shoot it, obviously.”

Edwin steps up to the edge, eyeing the slick walls. The walker barely seems aware of them, shifting idly in the murky water. He’s surprised the skin hasn’t sloughed off entirely, although it’s bloated up with enough water to make gender impossible to distinguish.

“Someone needs to be lowered into the well,” he says at last. “Carefully. Take something sharp down, put it down. Once it’s dead, secure the body with ropes, multiple locations. I’m honestly surprised it hasn’t started falling apart, it's absorbed enough water that it could tear off around any of the joints easily enough.”

“No,” Maggie steps forward, her expression horrified. “You can’t be serious.”

“What?” Shane shrugs. “It’s actually a pretty good idea.” He nods to T-Dog. “Dawg, go find us some rope.”

“You’re not killing it,” Maggie adds as T-Dog walks off, her expression disbelieving.

“What?” Glenn shakes his head. “Why not?”

Maggie opens and closes her mouth. “Look just, I’ll go get my dad. We’ll handle this.”

“We got it,” Andrea reassures her. “We want to help out. Besides, this will be easy.”

“So who’s going down?” Glenn asks.

* * *

Minutes later, Edwin finds himself helping to lower the young man into the well, the rope secured around Glenn’s waist and thighs, heavy duty gloves on his hands, and a pitch-fork selected as his weapon of choice. Maggie gave them more protests, then hurried off as they moved the plan forward. Lori spots from beside the well, directing them to lower Glenn as needed.

“Almost there,” Lori says. “Yeah, okay. Hold it, I think that's—”

The pump they secured the rope to creaks. Edwin steadies his feet, his fingers tingling as adrenaline surges through his veins. He tightens his grip on the rope just before the pump rips free of the ground.

Glenn screams, crying out and shrieking for them to pull him up. Edwin drags on the rope as hard as he can. His plan. He should have offered to go down. He should have—

“Wait!” Lori gasps, the relief in her voice obvious. “He got it! He got it, it’s okay!”

“Glenn?” Dale shouts. “Glenn, are you alright?”

“Yeah— Yeah I’m fine!” Glenn squeaks. “I got it, you can, go ahead and lower me down!”

They ease forward, lowering Glenn into the well. He lets out a yelp as he comes in contact with the water, and they all relax when the rope slacks as he gets to his feet.

The rest of the task is straightforward. Edwin shouts down instructions as Glenn secures the walker in multiple locations. Dragging the damn thing up out of the well is more problematic, and they wind up throwing down another rope to pull Glenn up first, since he’s lighter than the walker by far.

“What’s the meaning of this?” Hershel comes up, his expression thunderous, just as Glenn emerges from the well. Otis, Patricia, Maggie and Jimmy are close on his heels.

“We’re almost done here,” Shane steps forward, waving a hand to the well. “Just need to pull it up, might need to borrow a horse or something. Damn thing’s heavier than a load of bricks.”

“You didn’t—” Maggie stops herself, rushing up to the edge of the well. She peers down and gasps, covering her mouth. She looks to her father and nods wordlessly, stepping away from the well and bending over to lean on her thighs.

Hershel’s mouth tightens. “We’ll take it from here. I’d like the rest of you to leave, please.”

The group look among themselves, clearly confused. Shane’s lip twitches, his eyes narrowing with anger. After a moment, he shrugs, waving the rest of them away. “Y’all heard the man, Hershel’s folks will take care of it. Come on people, let’s clear off.”

As Edwin makes his way back to their little encampment, he notices that Glenn lingers behind longest. He speaks to Maggie before jogging to catch up. 

“Oh hey, Jenner,” Glenn says as he slows down to a walk. “I’m heading into town with Maggie, is there anything you need?”

“I…” Edwin shakes his head. “No, I’m... I’m fine.”

Glenn nods and starts to move away, when a thought crosses Edwin’s mind. “Wait,” he hurries up, reaching for Glenn’s shoulder. “Wait I— Mouse. She— She has a hard time eating, and she's been out there awhile. If there are any protein powders left for— like for shakes.”

“Oh, yeah,” Glenn smiles. “I’ll keep an eye out.”

Edwin watches Glenn walk away, unsure why he spoke up. He sits down in a camp chair someone set up in a circle, exhaustion dragging at every limb. He should get up, go find something to do, offer to help out. Instead, he stares at the ground until the occasional looks from passersby drive him back into the RV.

He wakes up to screaming, panicked cries coming from the main house. He struggles upright, crawling out of bed. By the time he makes it to the door, the screams have changed. No longer panicked, now furious and shocked. Someone sobs disconsolately. Lori sprints up the stairs of the porch, Carl on her heels.

“Stay here!” She orders the boy, but he ignores her and follows inside.

“What’s going on?” Dale is on top of the RV keeping watch. Edwin can tell how badly he wants to head inside, but he’s afraid to abandon his post. “Lori?”

Edwin makes his way to the farmhouse, dread tight in his chest. He pushes the door open, stopping in the entryway as his gaze is drawn to the bedroom off to the side. Carol is sprawled over the bed, sobbing as she clutches at Sophia, who lays limp beneath her.  
  
There’s a knife sticking from the side of Sophia’s head. Her eyes are open and milky, her expression slack, skin pallid.

Sophia is dead.

* * *

Rick, Shane, Otis and Andrea all went out looking for Mouse after the well was secured. By the time they make it back, the grave is dug. Edwin joined Patricia and Jimmy in doing so, none of them speaking. He ignores the constant twinge from his ankle, forcing the shovel into the earth again and again. Every movement feels disconnected from the last. He can’t breathe, but somehow he’s still moving. 

“That should be enough.”

He pauses, looking up at Patricia. Her cheeks are smeared with dirt and tears. She offers him a broken smile, and then her hand. 

He takes the offer for what it is, allowing her to help him crawl up out of the pit they’ve dug, Jimmy scrambling up after him. No coffin, just a hole four or five feet deep, too small for an adult. He stares down into it, the memory of another too small hole clawing for his attention. That funeral had been a closed casket, the body too mangled for chemicals and gloved hands to wrangle into a lifelike facade.

When the others return, they gather around the grave, holding a subdued funeral as the last of the daylight fades. Otis hangs well back from the rest, his wife holding him tightly. Even from afar, his crying is audible. Carol can barely stand, hanging off of Lori as Rick carries Sophia’s body wrapped in white sheets. He and Shane ease her down into the hole as Carol falls to her knees.

There are no words. Rick stands there staring into the ground, his eyes haunted. Andrea steps forward to fill the grave, and then Rick and Shane join her. Slowly, the group disperses, leaving Lori and Andrea to offer Carol what comfort they can, while Otis and Patricia hover in the background.

Edwin makes it to the firepit, then collapses into a camp chair. Daryl sits nearby, his expression dark. Someone lit a fire, sap crackles and pops, smoke drifting lazily. Edwin hunches forward, digging his hands into his hair.

“Stop moping,” Daryl growls. He stands up with a huff. “Girl’s out there, okay? I’ll find her tomorrow.”

As the hunter walks away, Edwin starts to laugh. He trails off into sobs, ripping at the roots of his hair. Why is he still here?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning; Child Death
> 
> Heavy chapter. How is everyone feeling? I hope you're real life is nowhere near as depressing as Rick's crew right now. Any thoughts people would like to share? If you have them I'm happy to hear them!


	8. I'm Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group grapples with Sophia's death and struggle to settle onto the farm. Edwin despairs, and conflicts brew.

Rick and Shane set up the search bright and early, laying out a grid on the map Hershel has lent them. Daryl plans to head deeper into the woods, he backtracked Sophia’s path up to a stream but lost her trail.

“I’ll follow it,” the hunter explains as he traces the stream's trajectory across the map. “See if I can pick the trail back up. They were together at some point, just gotta find wherever they split.”

Rick nods. “The rest of us will divide up into groups. We’re gonna do this right.”

“Hey Rick,” Shane starts. “Why don’t you pair everyone up, okay? I need to talk to Jenner for a minute.”

“Shane—” Rick reaches for his partner, but the cop shakes his head.

“It’s cool, man.” He assures the other man. “Just need to have a word.”

Edwin clenches his fists, his temples pounding. Despite the cool morning air, he feels overheated, his stomach twisted into a tight knot. Still when the cop nods to the side, he reluctantly follows.

“You should stay here at the farm.” Shane insists the moment they’re out of earshot.

Edwin gapes at him. He struggles to even think what to say. In the end, all he can manage is, “What?”

“I’m serious, man.” Shane continues. “Look, we don’t like each other, but this ain’t personal. If— If it was Sophia still missing, I’d tell Carol the same thing.”

Edwin grits his teeth, looking away because if he has to stare at Shane’s face, he’s going to do something he’ll regret. Every time he spots that square jaw, the only thing he can see is Mouse on the ground, a shotgun pointed at her chest.

“The truth is, I don’t trust you to have anyone's back.” Shane adds. “Maybe someday that’ll change, but right now? I don’t want you out there.”

Without looking at the cop, he nods. “Okay.”

He’s left on the farm with barely any of their group. Even Carl is gone, insisting on going out with his father. Edwin and the entire farm heard the shouting even though the Grimes’ couple tried to keep it quiet by having the fight inside the RV. Otis and Jimmy joined the search as well, leaving those few who stayed back with the Greenes and Patricia for company.

Within an hour of them leaving, Edwin regrets every choice he’s made in the last three years. He paces the campsite, driven from the RV by the need to give the grieving Carol privacy. He can’t stand the waiting. Every breath feels like it's going to be his last. 

“I need to talk to you.”

He pauses, turning to face Maggie Greene with a startled look. He tries to agree, but his throat is too tight to make a sound. After a moment, he nods, staring at her feet rather than meeting her eyes.

She leads the way over to the house, waving for him to take a seat on the bench set out on the porch. Rather than join him, she leans against the railing. Edwin feels pinned in place by her gaze, like an insect on a specimen board.

“How could you advocate murdering that man in the well?”

He looks up at her from surprise more than anything else. “What?” It feels like that’s all he’s managing to say today.

“You heard me,” Maggie continues. “You said that there might be a cure, but you told them they should just— put that man down—”

“That wasn’t a man,” Edwin shakes his head. “That was a walker.”

Maggie snorts, folding her arms as she looks away. “I can’t believe you of all people could say that.” She glares at him as she adds, “You’re one of the people who was supposed to be saving them—”

“They’re dead,” he stands up, glaring at her in return. “And I was trying to save people! I was at the CDC, my wife died trying to save you people from—”

Maggie cringes, her eyes wide. Edwin freezes. He has her by the arms, his hands squeezing too tight. He steps back with a gasp, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he mumbles, sweat dripping down the back of his neck. “I didn’t— I—”

He turns away, stumbling down the steps into the yard. Maggie calls out but he can’t make out the words. Before she can say anything, he breaks into a run.

He dashes past the RV, ignoring Dale as he calls out and not stopping until he reaches the stables. There, he doubles over, tears running down his cheeks, sweat burning in his eyes. He steps inside for the shade, sinking down against a stall wall and drawing his knees up to his chest. He doesn’t want to do this, why the hell is he still here?

“Jenner?” 

The voice that calls out to him is hoarse, broken from hours spent sobbing. It’s a tone Edwin is intimately familiar with, and right now it can only belong to one person.

“Here,” he whispers, meaning to shout. He tries to clear his throat, but all he can do is whine. He shudders, digging his nails into the back of his neck.

“I— I saw you running past the RV,” Carol stammers. “Is— Is everything alright?”

“You’re asking me that?” He rasps. A laugh bubbles in his throat, subsumed by a sob before it can escape.

Small hands grasp his, firmed with callouses. Carol uncurls his fingers, pulling them away from his skin. She places both hands into her own, then cups his chin, pulling him up to look at her. Her cheeks are red and puffy from crying, her pale blue eyes bloodshot, a perfect mirror of his own.

“Why don’t you come back to the RV,” she suggests, offering him a fragile smile. “At least it won’t smell like manure.”

It takes him a long time to stand, but for no reason he can discern, Carol waits. She guides him back to Dale’s RV with a hand on his back, while Edwin stumbles over every step. Once inside, she makes him sit at the table and brings them both a cup of water. There’s a beautiful white flower sitting there. Edwin isn’t sure when it was brought in since he stayed in a cramped tent last night, alone with his tears as he shivered himself to sleep.

“Daryl brought that yesterday,” Carol remarks with a sad smile. “He tried to just leave it when he found out my daughter was— had been infected and…” She stops herself, her calm facade cracking into grief. 

Guilt twists in Edwin’s chest. Sophia wasn’t infected. He should— No, he needs to tell them the truth. He shudders, trying to muster the will to speak, but before he can find it Carol continues. 

“He told me a story about the Cherokee Indians, and how these flowers grew to comfort mothers who had lost their children, blooming everywhere their tears fell.” Carol’s small smile is watery, her voice soft. She pauses to wipe fresh tears from the corners of her eyes. “I’m glad he told me.”

Edwin stares at the flower, its name finally returning to him. The Cherokee Rose, ironic considering the species is invasive to North America.

“Lori thinks you're dangerous.”

“I don’t want to hurt anyone,” Edwin whispers.

“You don’t have to lie to me,” Carol asserts. “Everyone knows you hate Shane. I can’t blame you.”

He closes his eyes, nodding shortly. Hate: is that what he is feeling? He can’t tell. He’s never hated anyone before, not even that driver who…

“How did you lose Charlotte?”

Edwin flinches.

“I overheard Carl telling Lori that he isn’t afraid of you,” Carol explains in answer to Edwin’s unvoiced question. “That he thinks you lost a child by that name. He told her last night, after my daughter’s funeral. He didn’t know I was listening.”

He squeezes the table, his knuckles white. His teeth are chattering. He feels sick.

“Did you?”

He does not know how long it takes him to nod. That tiny up and down motion, barely even there. His chest is tight, and there’s a ringing in his ears.

“How long ago?”

The ringing gets louder. He thinks he hears something behind it, a child’s voice, light with delight and wonder.

“Three years,” he chokes, tears aching behind his tightly shut eyes. “Three— Three years.”

Three years since he kissed her ruddy cheeks, three years since he hoisted her up on his shoulders even though she was starting to get too big. Three years, three years, _three years—_

“It’s never going to stop hurting, will it?”

He shakes his head, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.

That small hand takes his again, squeezing lightly. He grabs back without thought, floundering in the darkness behind his eyelids. If he opens them and he’s still here in this RV, Mouse missing, Sophia dead, he’s going to scream, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever stop.

He can’t remember when Carol stands up and wraps him in her arms, can’t remember collapsing over the table. By the time he stops crying, his throat is raw.

When Daryl finally emerges from the woods that evening as the last to return and with no Mouse, Carol joins Edwin in the RV. Everyone else eats in the main house, a meal that Lori and Carol prepared for the Greenes to thank them. Even so, she chooses to sit outside with Edwin, staring at his untouched plate pointedly until he forces himself to eat.

“I’ll find her tomorrow,” Daryl insists when Edwin makes his way to his tent. He doesn’t answer, he just curls up in his sleeping bag and cries.

* * *

“Shooting lessons?” Edwin demands, his fists clenching as he glares down at Rick.

“It needs to happen,” Rick explains. “Everyone should know how to handle—”

Edwin takes a step forward and demands, “That can’t wait one day?!”

Rick doesn’t get a chance to respond because Edwin is on the ground. There’s dirt in his mouth, people shouting. A hand presses down on the back of his neck, and he goes limp despite how hard his heart hammers.

“Shane! Enough!”

It’s the fourth day since Mouse went missing, and Rick wants to spend it giving everyone shooting lessons instead of looking. He says there’s a housing development not far from where Sophia’s trail ended that Shane will check out in the afternoon, and Daryl is going out on his own yet again, but Edwin knows what this really means. Rick has already given up.

Carol and T-Dog help him to his knees. He struggles to breathe, digging his fingers into the dirt. He wants to scream and curse.

“We’re going to find her, okay?” Rick insists as he kneels down, eyes wide and genuine. “We just— People need to know how to defend themselves, how to—”

“You should have just left her with me,” Edwin gasps. “You should have just left her! You— You said you’d take care of her, and you left her out there!”

He’s on his feet, the taste of dirt on his tongue, tears dripping down his cheeks. All he can see is Rick’s stricken expression, but it’s not enough. Rick has his son, alive and whole. Sophia is in the ground, his baby is three years dead, _and Mouse is still missing!_

“Just go,” he whispers into the silence, his whole body trembling. He turns away, shaking off Carol’s hands and stumbling to his tent. He crawls inside, not bothering to brush off the dirt.

Hours pass. Cars rumble away, then return. He itches all over. It doesn’t matter.

“Jenner.” Maggie’s voice is raw from screaming or crying or maybe both. He didn’t think she’d ever speak to him again and doesn’t blame her for avoiding him.

“Doctor Jenner, I need to talk to you.” Her voice cracks halfway through.

He drags himself up and crawls out of the tent, looking up at her from his knees. Deep shadows underlay her bloodshot eyes, her hair mussed as though she’s been running her fingers through it.

“Can we…?” She waves a hand away from the little encampment, clearly desiring privacy.

Edwin follows her towards the farmhouse though they stop out in the open. She grips her arms, her expression dazed. She doesn’t look at him, instead gazing off towards the barn.

“Did you really work at the CDC?”

“Yes.” Edwin doesn’t know how he manages to get the word past the knot in his throat. He nods sluggishly. “Yes, I— I did.”

“Tell me what you know.” Her voice trembles, but she turns to watch him with a steady gaze.

He closes his eyes, unable to meet her own. “It invades the brain like meningitis, and causes the adrenal glands to hemorrhage. Organ shutdown follows, then brain death.”

The noise that Maggie makes is one that Edwin is agonizingly familiar with. A whine in the back of her throat, despair personified into a single sound. He shudders, wrapping his arms around himself.

“The resurrection times vary wildly. We had reports of it happening in as little as three minutes. The longest we heard of was eight hours. It restarts the brainstem, gets them up and moving, but nothing remains of the person they were before.”

“Oh, God…” Maggie whimpers. 

He cringes, digging his fingers into his arms. “I’m sorry.”

“Why…” Maggie gasps. “Why would you say there could be a cure?”

He finally looks at her, looks at the devastation written in her face. He feels like he’s suffocating, his chest tight and his vision swimming.

“I didn’t think you were referring to the walkers.” He whispers, guilt and fear tingling up his back. “We’re all infected, it doesn’t matter how you die. We all turn.”

Color drains from her cheeks. Horror shines in her hazel eyes.

“I…” She sways, and at last, the chains holding Edwin break. He reaches for her shoulder, steadying her with a trembling hand.

“I…” She reaches up to grip his hand with bruising force. “I need you to talk to my dad.”

* * *

“I don’t believe that.”

The Greene home is pleasantly cool, the windows thrown open to catch a late afternoon breeze. The curtains sway gently, shifting shadows cast across the long dining table that Edwin, Maggie and Hershel sit at. Maggie’s father is white-haired but sharp eyed, his expression stern.

Edwin gapes at him. “Excuse me?”

“This is just a disease,” Hershel continues, his disapproving gaze turning onto Maggie, “and I think that this discussion is over.”

“Daddy, stop!” Maggie pleads, tears visible in her eyes. “Don’t do this. Doctor Jenner worked at the CDC—”

“So he claims,” Hershel says coolly. 

“Glenn told me!” Maggie snaps, her mouth twisting with anger.

“The Asian boy?” Hershel seems no more impressed. 

Edwin presses his palms into his forehead. His mouth curves into a smile he doesn’t want. It burns, pulling at the corners of his mouth until the muscles ache. A giggle escapes him, then a full on laugh.

“I think you should leave,” Hershel states coldly. When Edwin looks up, he can see the same twist of anger on Hershel’s face aimed towards him that Maggie has aimed at her father.

“Okay,” Edwin hums. He tries to stand, but his feet don’t work. They tangle on the edge of his chair, and he falls, catching himself on the table’s edge.

“Jenner?” Maggie asks, alarmed.

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, his mouth still curved in that unwanted smile.

“Enough,” Hershel snaps, glaring at Edwin. “If you had a family—”

The crash of the chair clattering across the room cuts off Hershel’s words. Edwin stares at it dully. He can’t remember standing up, can’t remember throwing it.

“I had to watch my wife die for fourteen hours.”

Candace writhing in pain, tears dripping down her cheeks. Candace screaming at him to back away whenever he tried to comfort her. She didn’t want him to ruin the scan.

“Then I had to watch her corpse lay there for two hours, one minute, and seven seconds. Then when the virus re-animated her, I shot her. Because she was already dead.”

As he leaves the house, he can hear whispered arguing. He can’t feel his legs. He staggers back to his tent and sleeps.

It’s Carol who drags him out of his tent the next morning. She cajoles him into the RV and washes his face, sighing over him and clucking her tongue at every scrape and scratch. Then she passes him clean clothing and all but demands that he change, ‘so she can rinse out those rank rags he’s been wearing for nearly a week.’

He emerges from the RV in borrowed clothing from Otis that hangs short above his ankles, and too wide around his waist. As he sinks into a camp chair around the fire, Carl waves at him. He waves back, not missing the twin glares that Shane and Lori shoot him as he does. Andrea passes him a plate, more eggs and slices of canned ham fried in a pan over the campfire flames.

“Um, guys—” Glenn steps into the middle of the group, his voice shaking. Edwin looks up, but aside from Shane, he’s the only one.

“So.” Glenn swallows hard, scuffing a shoe in the dirt. “The barn is full of walkers.”

* * *

It explains everything. Edwin stands well in the back as Shane and Rick investigate the barn to confirm Glenn’s claims. No one doubts him, but this isn’t something they can cut corners on. The rest of the group hovers nearby, their expressions mixtures of disbelief and dread.

“You cannot tell me you’re alright with this.” Shane growls as he and Rick retreat from the barn doors.

“No, I’m not.” Rick agrees hoarsely. “But we’re guests here. This isn’t our land.”

When Shane exclaims in disbelief, for once Edwin finds himself agreeing. He ruins it almost at once of course, saying they should leave, that Mouse is already dead and not worth looking for. Carol bristles at his side, but her hand on his arm stops Edwin from lunging forward. Even Daryl curses Shane out and tells him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. While the rest of the group’s voices raise, the hunter walks off, hefting his crossbow on his back and disappearing into the woods.

“How can they think those things are alive?” Carol mutters in disgust as she and Edwin head back towards their camp. Rick and Shane can be heard shouting, but Edwin ignores it. He focuses on that picturesque farmhouse and narrows his eyes. His chest tightens, a mixture of understanding and anger bubbling in his throat.

“Jenner?” Carol tries to slow him down, but her fingers slip. She runs to catch up, but Edwin’s legs are longer.

He enters the Greene household, his hands clenched into fists. Hershel is eating breakfast, a Bible open before him. Edwin’s parents were religious, and they hated him for his scientific bend. Candace’s parents were the family he never had growing up, accepting him into their home and making him feel like he had a real family for the first time in his life. 

“Whoever you have locked up in there,” he hisses, storming over to the elderly man. “They’re dead.” 

He slams his fist onto the table. Carol bursts into the house, and Edwin is vaguely aware of Maggie approaching from the kitchen.

Hershel lifts his head, eyes narrowed with anger. He lifts his napkin to his lips, cleaning them slowly. “You, and the rest of your group, need to be gone by the end of the week.”

Edwin seizes the man by the shoulder, wrenching him out of the chair and slamming him into the wall. Carol and Maggie cry out, but he ignores them as he focuses all his fury onto this self-centered delusional old man who thinks he can ignore reality.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he grits out, digging his fingers in as hard as he can. “Not until Mouse is in my arms. You can order your man Otis to shoot me, but if you do, I’ll fight back. That girl is the only, the only thing that matters to me anymore, and if we find her and she’s dead? I’ll be gone but it won’t make your ‘family’ in that barn anymore alive than mine.”

“Get off him!” 

There’s a click of a gun, but it isn’t Otis, or Shane, or even Rick. Edwin looks up and sees Glenn, Maggie at his side, the young man aiming a shotgun at them. It’s not much of a threat when he’d kill Hershel as likely as he’d kill Edwin if he pulled the trigger. Still, Edwin releases him and steps away.

Maggie rushes up to her father, placing herself between them and staring at Edwin with a look that is somehow furious and understanding in the same instant. He doesn’t wait for their condemnations; he rushes out of the house ignoring Carol and Glenn as they try to speak, ignoring anyone who tries to say a word as he makes his way past the camp and heads for the edge of the property.

He stops at the treeline, staring off into the brush in silence. Eventually, his legs ache too much to stay standing so he sinks to the ground and wraps his arms around them.

The crunch of footsteps alerts him to someone approaching. He hides his face, wishing they would all just leave him alone. He’s so sick and tired of these people who don’t mind their own business, who don’t listen to reason or reality, who say they’ll take responsibility and then fail. He knows that he’s no better, but there’s no way to avoid himself. 

Dale sinks down to the ground beside him, groaning as his joints pop. Edwin turns his head away, breathing in the scent of grass and greenery, focusing on the rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“You know,” Dale begins, brushing dirt off his hands as he talks. “That girl is gonna be devastated when she comes back if you aren’t here to greet her.”

Edwin grinds his teeth, scraping his nails over his jeans. He digs them in, focusing on the pricks of pain instead of how badly he wants to shake the idiot beside him. He’s not stupid, he knows that Shane is right. Seventy-two hours before you’re looking for a body, and that was before walkers roamed the woods, but the only thing keeping him here is that slim chance. Once he knows for sure, once he holds her body in his arms, he’ll take one of the guns and end it like he should have at the CDC.

“I understand where you’re coming from,” Dale adds gently. “She’s all you have, and I can’t imagine…” He sighs and shakes his head. 

“I lost my wife to cancer, before all of this, but we never had kids.” Dale’s hand comes down onto Edwin’s back, and he flinches. “I’m sorry.”

“Please leave,” Edwin croaks.

“Okay.” Dale pats his back and stands up, pausing long enough to say, “Just know that even though I might not understand, Carol does. And I think even Hershel will once he accepts reality. It’s his wife and step-son in that barn, his neighbors and—”

“Leave!” Edwin shouts. Dale retreats, the rustle of his feet fading into the distance. Edwin buries his face into his knees and sobs.

He stays out by the edge of the woods all day, sweat running down his back and drenching his shirt, his skin pinking from the lack of shade. His throat burns, parched with thirst, and his temples throb, but she’s been out there all this time with no food or water. He doesn’t deserve a drop.

It’s the shouting that finally drags his gaze off the forest. Shane is up by the farmhouse handing out guns. Rick is with them and appears to be arguing. Edwin leans against the fence, watching dully as the large group heads for the barn. Without meaning to, he meanders closer, observing with little interest as Jimmy, Otis and Hershel emerge from the woods nearby, leading a pair of walkers on catch poles.

He turns away when Shane shoots the female walker in the chest, wandering back towards their camp. He knows that Dale was right, Mouse wouldn’t want him to hurt himself. It doesn’t matter what he wants, he needs to take care of his body for her. He’s pouring himself a cup of water as gunfire starts to echo across the fields.

In the distance, he sees Dale emerge from the woods. He’s running, rifle bouncing against his back. Edwin frowns, lowering his glass and squinting at the man. Something else emerges from the trees a moment later, the slower, irregular gait must be a walker. Edwin darts outside to yell for help, and that’s when he finally sees the second form clearly. 

It’s Daryl. He’s carrying something.

Edwin breaks into a run. He tears across the field, sprinting past Dale as he runs harder than he ever has before. Not even the stairs of the CDC compare because the fear he felt then is nothing to the fear he feels now. Daryl is carrying something in his arms, and it’s the right size to be—

She lifts her head off his shoulder.

Daryl reaches the fence as Edwin does. She lifts an arm, bright green eyes blinking sluggishly. Her cheeks are gaunt, her lips cracked. Sophia’s little doll is clutched tightly in one hand. She reaches out, and Daryl hefts her over the fence, passing Mouse into Edwin’s arms.

He falls to his knees, whining in the back of his throat as he hides his face into her greasy curls. “Mousey,” he croaks, rocking in place, and crushing her against his chest. “Mousey…”

“I…” Her voice is hoarse, barely more than a creak. “I’m here.”

Edwin falls onto his back, wrapped around her and sobbing. As Daryl scrambles over the fence and Dale comes running back towards them, he pets Mouse’s tangled curls and kisses her cheek.


	9. My Name

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Mouse alive and relatively unharmed, Jenner finds himself regaining hope. Meanwhile, the aftermath of Shane clearing the barn plays out.

Everyone experiences a moment in life where their entire foundation shifts beneath them, where something they know to be an absolute certainty turns out to be nothing more than a fabrication. It’s often the point where priorities rearrange, something once coveted is proven useless, and the path forward is revealed with crystal clarity. For Edwin, being adopted into his wife’s family was one such shift. In the Jenners, Edwin found a family he adored.

 _“You want to take my name?”_

The surprise in his fiancée’s voice made Edwin frown.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” Candace poked him with her toe, her eyes half-lidded. She’d been up in the middle of the night pacing, so they threw on an old show and settled down to watch, talking through the newest complications at work in between spacing out to the familiar twists and turns of a drama they had both seen before.

“Why is it a big deal?” Edwin demanded, grabbing her foot and massaging his fingers into the sole. She groaned in satisfaction, flopping onto the bed and closing her eyes as she hummed in pleasure. 

“It’s not,” Candace purred, stretching and smiling in contentment. “But you know most men don’t want to.”

“Nothing special about my name,” Edwin grunted. “Your name means something, Candace.”

“Well, I wasn’t gonna change it,” she said with a dry look.

“I know,” Edwin agreed. “But with your permission, I’d like to change mine.”

On the day of their wedding, Edwin with a surname of no consequence or value became Edwin Jenner. Here in the golden grass of Hershel Greene’s fields, his skin tight with sunburn, and the trembling weight of a skinny child cradled in his arms, Edwin Jenner’s world shifts again.

“Found her out in some abandoned ruins,” Daryl explains as he climbs over the fence. 

“Thank you,” Edwin manages to gasp, sitting up shakily. “Thank you, thank you—”

“Stop,” the hunter grunts, offering Edwin a hand. He lets the other man help him stand, refusing to let go of Mouse who has wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist.

“How is she?” Dale demands as he reaches them. The old man bends over, panting for breath. 

“She’s fine,” Daryl snaps, already moving forward to lead the way. “Come on, let’s get her up to the house, have Hershel take a look.”

They’re halfway across the field when they hear shouting. Hershel’s family is making their way towards their home, Rick and Shane at their heels.

“The hell happened?” Daryl demands. He glances to the barn then rolls his eyes. “Nevermind.”

“Unbelievable,” Dale mutters, shaking his head with disgust. “This didn’t need to happen.”

Edwin decides to keep his opinion to himself because the truth is he’s relieved the barn has been emptied out. He doesn’t care if they get kicked out, doesn’t care if Hershel still thinks those monsters were alive. The only thing that matters to him is cradled against his chest.

Both groups have nearly reached the main house by the time anyone notices them. Shane stops, staring at Edwin in disbelief. Rick notices next, and his hand comes up to his mouth, eyes widening in amazement. 

“She’s…” Rick’s voice cracks, relief overwhelming him as tears glisten in his eyes. “Oh, my God…”

Hershel’s family is torn with grief, their eyes red and puffy. Beth stands curled against her father’s side, Maggie’s arm wrapped around her shoulders. Jimmy, Patricia, Otis and Glenn are close behind, shielding the trio from Rick and Shane. They all come to a halt, looking to Edwin with varying expressions of disbelief and shock.

“Is she…” Hershel’s voice creaks, the despair in his face settling instead into a flat mask of professionalism.

“Just dehydrated, I figure,” Daryl speaks up. He’s still heading for the house. “Hurry up already. Jesus, we’ve got a kid to take care of.”

The moments that follow are a flurry of motion and voices. Edwin refuses to put Mouse down, not until they make it into the Greenes’ home. He has to when they enter that same bedroom where Sophia took her last breath to lay Mouse out on clean sheets and allow Patricia and Hershel to take her blood pressure and check her for injuries. Still, he stays right there clutching her hand, telling her it's okay, you’re safe, _I’m here._

“She’s in remarkably good condition, all things considered,” Hershel pronounces at last. He put Mouse on fluids, before she passed out from exhaustion. “She must have had shelter of some sort. I expect she’d be in much worse condition if she didn’t.” 

Although her cheeks are sunken, the skin beneath her eyes purpled with bruising, and she never stops shivering even under the large pile of blankets, Hershel is correct. Save for a few scrapes and bruises, she’s practically unharmed. 

“Found her out in that abandoned farmhouse Otis checked the first day,” Daryl chimes in, hovering in the doorway. “She might’ve found it after, or been wanderin’ around when they passed through.” He shrugs. “Get a few meals in her, she’ll be right as rain.”

“Shockingly enough, that seems to be the case,” Hershel states stiffly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have things to attend to.”

The older man slips out past Daryl, who wanders away from the open door, leaving Patricia and Edwin alone. 

“It’s a miracle, her making it out there so long,” Patricia says hoarsely. She strokes a hand lightly over Mouse’s cheek. “We’ll get her a bath and some broth when she wakes up.” She straightens up, her gaze turning to the window that looks out over the yard. “I need to go help the others with the bodies.”

“Thank you,” Edwin manages. He hasn’t stopped crying since he settled beside the bed.

“I’m just glad she’s still with us.”

Edwin looks to the window, spotting several people digging graves. The new ones are in a line stretching out beneath the gorgeous apple tree they buried Sophia under. Mouse is still alive, unlike Hershel’s wife, his step-son, friends and other family.

Patricia leaves, but they aren’t alone for long. When Rick approaches, he hesitates by the door, his eyes reddened and shadowed by stress.

“How is she?” The cop asks. 

Edwin frowns, unable to bring himself to look Rick in the eye. “She’s sleeping. Hershel thinks she’ll make a full recovery.”

Rick steps forward, looking her over closely. His lips twitch into a faint smile, swiftly chased away with sadness lined by guilt. Eventually Rick clears his throat, steeling himself to speak up.

“Did Daryl say where he found her?” There’s no need to ask who it was that brought Mouse back, the hunter has been the only one staying on task for days.

“The farmhouse,” Edwin states, voice as flat as he can make it. “Um— Some abandoned one. Otis checked it, but he must have missed her.”

“Oh, I thought-” Rick stops and sighs, grimacing at the ground. “I suppose it doesn’t matter now.”

He waits, hovering by the bed with that guilt ridden look, but Edwin can’t bring himself to respond. He doesn’t know what benediction the man is seeking, but there isn’t enough charity left in Edwin to offer it. Reasonable or not, he’s still too angry to even look at him. By the time Rick leaves, neither has said another word.

He loses track of the passage of time. He’s too absorbed in every little breath Mouse takes. The world shifts in the progress the gravediggers make, each hole getting deeper and the piles beside them taller.

“Is she still sleeping?” 

Carol’s voice is soft, a trace of hesitation in her words. When Edwin looks up, he finds her standing in the doorway, her expression uncertain.

“Yeah,” he grins, waving towards the chair on the other side of the bed. “Yeah she’s- I can’t imagine she slept well the past few days.”

Carol approaches carefully, glancing over Mouse. “She was so little before,” she leans forward, brushing a few strands of hair off her forehead. “She’s practically skin and bone now.”

“She never ate enough,” Edwin shares, rubbing his thumb lightly against her pulse. “Even in the CDC, every time we sat down to eat it was like asking her to do some chore she couldn’t stand.”

“Picky eater?” Carol chuckles.

“Pickiest I’ve ever seen,” Edwin grins.

They sit quietly for a time, watching her breathe. When Carol sniffles, Edwin looks up in alarm.

“I’m sorry,” Carol whispers, wiping at her eyes. “I just wonder when they were separated. Maybe— Maybe if they’d stayed together then my daughter might have…” She cuts herself off, brushing away more tears.

Edwin looks down, old pain raking across his heart. If only he’d told Charlotte to be more careful. If only he’d been there that day, instead of at work. _If only._

“We try our best, with the time that we have.” He croaks, swallowing hard to clear his throat. “It’s— It’s all we can do, Carol. We try our best, then time runs out.”

It’s silent for a while, before she speaks with a wet voice. “You’re right. We tried, didn’t we? It wasn’t enough for them but…”

“We’ll just keep trying,” he whispers back.

After a moment, Carol stands, coming around the bed and pulling him into a hug. She presses his cheek to her shoulder, resting her chin on top of his head. 

“The others don’t get it, except maybe Andrea,” Carol says at last, letting him go and resting a hand on his shoulder. “If she’d died the night my husband did, I’d have stayed with Jacqui.” Her gaze comes to rest on Mouse, expression tender. “But there are still people here to live for.”

* * *

Edwin watches the funeral through the window. The grieving family returns to their home, though only Patricia disturbs Edwin to ask if Mouse has woken up. Afterwards, he’s left to his own devices, and he’s more than happy for it to remain that way.

He’s starting to nod off himself when a loud clatter from the kitchen makes him jump. He straightens up, frowning when he hears Maggie crying out in fear.

He hurries to the door, checking the hall, and looking back to Mouse worriedly. After assuring himself she’s still fast asleep, he shuts the door behind him and follows the alarmed voices. 

Maggie and Glenn are hovering over Beth, who lays unconscious on the kitchen floor. He takes only long enough to assure himself the youngest Greene is still breathing, before stepping forward to offer whatever help he can. 

“What happened?” He crouches beside her, forcing himself to ignore the wary look Glenn shoots him. Maggie, however, is too frantic to hold onto any grudge.

“I— I don’t know,” she whimpers, cradling her sister’s head in her palm. “We— We need Dad, someone—”

“I’ll go find him,” Glenn scrambles up, running from the room on light feet.

“Did she hit her head when she fell?” Edwin looks around the room, trying to spot the stain of blood.

“I don’t think so,” Maggie shakes her head. “She just— She was just doing dishes, and she collapsed, and I don’t— I—”

“Maggie,” Edwin firms his voice, drawing on a well of professionalism he didn’t realize he still had. “Beth is okay. She’s breathing, see?” He grabs the older sister’s hand and brings her palm close to Beth’s lips so she can feel the passage of air. “I can feel her pulse, and those are the two most important things.”

Maggie nods, taking several deep breaths. “Can we, can we move her?” She looks up at him, her lips trembling. “I don’t— She shouldn’t have to— to just lay here on the floor.”

Edwin hesitates, but there’s no real reason to think this is a spinal injury. After a moment’s consideration, he nods. He and Maggie lift Beth between them, though Edwin tries to do all the work at first.

“Stop it,” Maggie snaps, narrowing her eyes. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you half-starving yourself this past week. Last thing my sister needs is to be dropped by a man too damn stubborn to accept he needs a little help.”

Beth’s room is decorated with lacy curtains, the walls painted in pastel yellows and pinks. He eases her onto the bed, the cover a quilted top decorated with various farm animals and scenery. 

Once the younger sister is settled, Maggie sits down on the bed beside her. Edwin offers to wait downstairs for Hershel, and she agrees, her eyes fixed on Beth’s face.

He checks on Mouse again, then waits in the doorway of her room so she’ll still be able to see him if she wakes. He doesn’t have to wait long, Rick leads the way into the house with Glenn close behind.

“Jenner,” Rick starts. “Have you seen—”

“No,” Glenn interrupts. “No, he was there in the kitchen with us!”

“God damn it,” Rick mutters. He darts past Edwin further into the house, taking the stairs to the second story two at a time.

“We took Beth upstairs,” Edwin tells Glenn, who gives him a nod before following Rick.

Soon three more come running up to the house, Otis, Patricia and Shane. Edwin directs them upstairs as well, and is left to wait and see what unfolds. He can hear the group talking but only catches the occasional word here and there.

A hoarse sob draws his attention. He turns, his eyes widening when he spots Mouse shifting under her covers. She tries to sit up, fumbling at the line taped to the inside of her arm.

“No, no!” He rushes forward, falling to his knees and catching her hand before she can rip it free. “Don’t, Sweetie. You’re okay, I’m here. Hey, Mousey?”

She blinks at him, breathing hard and trembling. After a moment, her vision clears, and she slumps down onto the pillows, sniffling hard. 

“Hey, there.” Warmth blooms in his chest. He pets her hair, eyes burning with tears despite the smile splitting his face.

“H-Hey…” Her voice is barely more than a whisper, even those small motions making the cracks in her lips tug and bleed. 

“Want something to drink?” He grabs the pitcher beside them before she can respond, pouring a glass of water and holding it out. She grips the glass with clumsy fingers, and he holds it steady for her as she takes deep gulps. She doesn’t stop until the water is gone, then collapses back into the pillows.

“S-So…” Her voice trails off, and with a grimace she reaches up to paw at her throat. Helpless frustration twists her face, tears glistening in her eyes. 

“It’s okay,” he reassures her, catching her hand before she can dig at her skin with her jagged nails. She already bears the marks of self-injury, scabbed over and raw across her stomach, neck, wrists and arms. “Just take your time,” he insists, smiling down at her. “There isn’t any rush.”

She shakes her head hard, looking around like she’s trying to find something. He scans the bed, until his gaze lands on that ragged doll with yarn for hair. Sophia’s doll. 

His heart sinks. He swallows, reluctantly reaching for the doll where it sits at the end of the bed. He passes it to Mouse, biting his lip before he manages to ask, “Is this what you wanted?”  
  
She takes the doll but shakes her head, patting it urgently and waving her hand in a circle. He doesn’t want to know what she means, but she couldn’t be more clear unless she said the words out loud.

“She…” He catches Mouse’s hands and swallows hard. “Mouse, I…”

She squeezes his hand hard, tugging until he looks up. The look in her eyes is knowing, tears spilling down her cheeks.

“I’m sorry…” He whispers, clutching her hand to his mouth. He takes a steadying breath, but every time he closes his eyes, all he sees are two little girls, both blonde and blue-eyed, who never even had a chance to live.

The sound of people arguing as they descend the stairs draws Edwin’s gaze. He swallows, kisses her hand again and says, “I’ll be right back.” He registers the flicker of fear in her face, but she nods once more, hugging Sophia’s doll against her stomach. 

In the living room, Rick, Shane and Otis stand in a loose circle. They aren’t loud, though their voices carry easily enough.

“His car is missing,” Otis says with a sigh. “I didn’t think he would do something like this, he just said he wanted space. I never thought—”

“Look, we have a destination,” Rick cuts him off. “Maggie thinks he headed up to Hatlin’s, I can just take Glenn—”

“Look,” Shane rubs his hand over his face. “I just— I don’t think any more of us need to be off the farm, okay?”

Rick shakes his head. “Otis? Can you give us a minute?”

“Course,” Otis offers. “Should go check up on Beth anyways.” He hesitates then adds, “I’ll head into town if no one else will, it’s just—”

“No,” Rick cuts him off firmly. “You’re the only person here with any medical experience aside from Patricia. We can’t afford to have anyone else with those skills off property.”

Edwin shifts back from the door, sensing the two cops’ desire for privacy, but they aren’t being quiet. Otis’ footsteps retreat back upstairs as the pair continue to argue.

“I know you’re right, Shane,” Rick says after a moment. “But we need Hershel for the baby, you know we do.”

 _Baby?_ This is the first Edwin has heard anything about that. He winces when he spots the look of curiosity on Mouse’s face, chasing away the grief. She blinks up at him as he sits beside her, placing a finger over his own lips.

“Yeah,” Shane takes a long time to agree, but he does in the end. “Yeah, okay. You and me can head into town, bring Hershel back.”

“I think Glenn and I should go,” Rick responds. “Look, I want you at my back, but Hershel’s already pissed enough as it is.”  
  
“I’d say sorry…” Shane trails off, his tone sardonic. 

“But you’d be a liar if you did, I know,” Rick responds, his voice exhausted and fond in the same breath. 

“You said it, man,” Shane chuckles softly. It’s silent for a moment before Shane adds in a strained tone. “I can’t let you just go, Rick.”

“Shane, we already discussed why—”

“No, no I can’t let you just go,” Shane repeats. “I’m coming. I’ll wait in the damn car, alright? You take Glenn into the bar, get the old man back. I’ll— I’ll hold him down if I have to. I can be the bad guy, okay? But I can’t just…”

The silence stretches, and Edwin nearly misses the last words Shane speaks. 

“I can’t lose you again.”

It’s mid-afternoon when Rick, Shane and Glenn set out towards town. No one is thrilled with the arrangement, which Edwin is pretty sure means that it's a good compromise. There’s some saying he can’t quite remember along those lines.

Patricia helps him get Mouse cleaned up, although all three of them have to cram into the little downstairs bathroom to make it happen. Mouse refuses to let him out of her sight, lips trembling and tears dripping any time the suggestion gets made. Still, between them, they manage to get her washed and dressed in ill-fitting clothing that Carol brought to the house in a box. Mouse bursts into tears, clearly recognizing some of the clothes, but although Sophia was taller, no one else's clothing comes close to fitting. Once they get her to drink a thin broth made from chicken base and finely chopped vegetables, Mouse looks like one of those horror stories that get posted to raise awareness on malnourishment rather than on death's door.

He’s expecting her to want more rest, but the second he settles her back onto the bed, her gaze is fixed to the window, eyes focused on the line of graves under the apple tree.

“Do you…” Edwin clears his throat, his eyes burning. 

She squeezes Sophia’s doll, then looks over to him. She taps it, then points to the window. He nods, blinking away tears. She stares out the window for a long time before finally nodding her head. He takes her hand, but she is clearly determined to walk all on her own.

Lori and Carol are outside doing laundry and pause as they make their way slowly down the front porch steps. Mouse looks around, blinking furiously and sometimes squeezing her eyes shut as though it hurts to stare at anything for too long. Edwin spots T-Dog up on top of Dale’s RV keeping watch, and the man waves to them with a broad grin. 

“Should she be out of bed?” Lori asks as she goes back to hanging up a damp shirt. Her tone is carefully flat.

“Hershel said she was just dehydrated,” he answers. “If she’s up to it, there isn’t any reason she shouldn’t be moving about.”

“She looks better,” Carol says, smiling at Mouse. The girl meets her gaze for a moment, before her expression twists with sadness. She drops her head and sniffles hard.

“We’re going down to the apple tree,” Edwin explains, stroking down Mouse’s hair and letting her hide her face against his hip.

“You told her?” Lori stops what she’s doing, looking up at him incredulously. “That couldn’t have waited?”

“I wasn’t going to hide it,” Edwin’s back straightens as anger stirs in his chest. This isn’t new, being the more involved parent as a man came with some interesting side-effects, namely constant praise for being involved at all, alongside critique of every parenting choice he ever made.

“She just got here,” Lori glares at him outright. “Shouldn’t she have gotten one night to recover?”

“She asked,” Edwin snaps. “And I don’t make it a habit to lie to my children.”

Lori shakes her head, refusing to look at him as she returns to her chores. Edwin tugs on Mouse’s hand to lead her on, but Mouse doesn’t move. To his surprise, she pulls free of his grip, visibly shaking as she walks towards the two women. 

All three adults pause to stare as Mouse comes to a stop in front of Carol. She sniffles again, then holds out Sophia’s doll.

“Oh,” Carol’s voice catches, her eyes widening. “Oh, I— Sweetie, you don’t—” She stops, breathing hard and squeezing her eyes shut. After a moment, she kneels down, pressing the doll back into Mouse’s arms and offering her a shaky smile.

“If my daughter wanted you to have it, I think— I think it should stay with you.” Carol squeezes Mouse’s hand, her eyes bright with unshed tears. 

Mouse nods slowly before stepping forward to offer Carol a short hug. Both child and grieving mother are tense, and Mouse comes running back to Edwin’s side soon after. Carol wipes at her eyes as they walk away.

They settle down in the shade of the apple tree, just in front of the packed earth of Sophia’s little wooden cross. Her name is carved into the wood, and wilted petals of the white Cherokee Rose are tucked up against the frame. Mouse cuddles against his side, fiddling with the doll in her lap. She sucks on her lip hard, opens her mouth, and scowls in frustration. 

“Just take it slow,” Edwin tells her, resting his palm at the back of her neck. He massages his fingers into taught muscle, and she melts against his side.

It takes Mouse a long time to speak, and when she finally does, her voice is hoarse, a barely present whisper in danger of being carried away by the slightest of breezes.

“I had a rabbit…” She murmurs. “Not— Not a real one. Sn-Snuggle Bunny. I lost him when we crashed.”

Edwin holds his breath, his eyes welling with tears. He forces himself to continue massaging her neck and stays silent, allowing Mouse’s quiet voice to fill the air.

“Mom got hurt,” she says, voice flat and brittle. “Her leg. Sh-She said we had to go, so we walked, then we ran, but she couldn’t really, but she said to run, so I did. I did and I—”

Edwin hugs her close. He lets her cry against his side, kisses her hair and says the only words that he can think to say. “I’m here, Mousey, I’m here.” He murmurs them again and again, because they aren’t okay, and it hurts and all he can do is hold her and let her grieve.

“I tr-tried to stay together!” Mouse wails, leaning back and for a rare moment looking right into his eyes. “I tried! I tried but sh-she said she had to g-go and that I had to stay and th-that that was how we’d both make it, but she’s gone and I sh-should’ve…”

“Mouse, baby,” he pets her cheek, brushing away tears. “Are you talking about Sophia?”

She nods her head, whimpering and shaking in his arms. Edwin swallows hard. He knows the others want to know what happened, but none of it matters to him. He just wants Mouse to know this isn’t her fault, none of it.

“Mouse, if Sophia thought you two should separate, then you did right to listen to her.” She shakes her head, gasping against his chest and crying harder. 

“Listen to me,” he tells her firmly. “I told you to stay with Sophia, because at the time it seemed right. You tried, but if Sophia believed you needed to separate, she was a smart girl. This isn’t your fault. Not any of it.”

He lets her cry herself out, and even when her sobbing stops, he doesn’t let go. Mouse makes no move to get up, so Edwin simply adjusts his legs into a more comfortable position, rubbing her back through one of Sophia’s old cardigans. They sit in silence, something that often occurred back in the CDC. He wishes they’d never left, but that isn’t quite right. He doesn’t want to die, not with Mouse here in his arms. He just wants to be there instead of here, deep underground and safe.

The crunch of grass draws his gaze towards the main house to a small figure making his way across the yard. Lori and Carol finished the laundry some time ago, the lines hung with damp clothes and sheets.

Carl comes to a stop about ten feet away, shifting nervously.

“You don’t have to stay standing,” Edwin pats the grass beside them. “Come sit down.”

The boy nods, scuffing his feet and glancing towards Sophia’s grave. He swallows visibly, then approaches, settling across from Edwin and Mouse.

“Um,” Carl glances at Mouse, his discomfort obvious. “I know we haven’t really talked— I mean you don’t talk so…” He winces, reaching up to adjust his dad’s hat. Edwin isn’t sure when he received it, but now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t think he’s seen Rick wearing it since the highway.

“I dunno if you can like, read and write or whatever,” Carl finally states. “But I found a notepad and a pen. I thought you should have it.”

The kid pulls them out of his back pocket, holding them out to Mouse. Edwin is about to explain that selective mutism isn’t that simple, but Mouse reaches forward and takes the pad before he can say a word. 

He watches with held breath as she flips the pad open to the first page. She hesitates for a long moment, pen posed over the paper. He can feel her trembling. Then she presses it down and writes, _‘Thank you,’_ in bold large letters. She holds the pad up so Carl can see, and the boy grins.

“It’s nothing,” he demurs, but the pleased expression on his face says otherwise. “Hey so, what’s your real name?”

Edwin doesn’t dare to move a muscle, his gaze fixed on Mouse. She sits there motionless, her expression pinched. She takes several deep breaths, then shakes her head, hurriedly writing her next message down. When she holds it out for them to read, chills race down his arms.

_‘I’m Mouse. I don’t want to be anyone else.’_

Edwin’s breath hitches in his chest, his vision blurring with tears. The children look up at him in alarm, but he forces himself to smile. 

“I’m okay,” he insists, rubbing her arm to try and reassure her. “I’m okay.”

As Mouse hugs him, it strikes Edwin that he isn’t lying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the longer break between chapters, with AO3 doing maintenance I decided to take the opportunity to take a pause.


	10. Accidents

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jenner continues to process everything that has happened, as well as forming new connections. Lori struggles with her fear of losing her husband.

Edwin spends the day outside and mostly awake for the first time in nearly a week, though he finds himself winded and forced to sit more often than he’d like. He takes turns helping out T-Dog, Andrea or Carol around the farm. Considering everything the Greene family has suffered today there is a wordless agreement that they shouldn’t have to worry about basic chores. Mouse naps for a few hours, then once she’s awake, Carl begs Edwin to let them play Uno on the top of the RV with Dale. 

“That way we can have three players!” Carl explains. Part of Edwin knows he should be asking Lori to make sure it's all right, but he figures it will be better to have the two under Dale’s direct attention than find Lori and address the lack of supervision.

“Hey, Eddie?”

He’s filling a bucket from one of the clean wells, having checked before bothering to draw water, when Carol’s soft voice makes him break out in a cold sweat. In an instant, he’s fifteen, his younger brother’s wide grin flashing in his eyes.

“I—” He blinks hard, trying to focus on the cooling air, the smell of grass and livestock, the metal spigot under his hand. “Yes— I mean— I—”

Warm hands grab his own, and he flinches, registering how small they are too late. He stands there trembling, his face pale and eyes wide.

“Jenner,” Carol says his name firmly. “Look at me.”

He does because he’s used to letting Candace make decisions.

“You’re not there.” Carol’s eyes are knowing in a way that makes Edwin feel sick. “You’re here on the Greene farm with me.”

He nods jerkily, closing his eyes and focusing on the feel of her fingers rubbing against his own. “Okay, yes.” Once he can breathe evenly, he opens his eyes.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, pulling his sweaty hands back and wiping them on his pants. “I— Uh— That hasn’t happened in— I mean—” Carol places her hand on his arm, and he stops trying to speak.

“What can I call you?” She asks softly, rubbing up and down. “My husband was named Ed, I’d rather not use that.”

“Ah,” he nods, then shrugs. “Jenner is fine.” At her raised eyebrow, he chuckles, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “But, uh, Edwin works too.”

Her lips twitch with amusement, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Edwin,” she says deliberately. “Do you think you could come help me in the kitchen?”

“I’d love to,” he says genuinely, his shoulders dropping as most of the tension vanishes.

Carol raises her eyebrows, but she turns to lead the way as she responds. “Normally, I’d ask one of the other girls, but I’m not sure where Lori is right now and with Beth…” She sighs and shakes her head. “I just figured it would be better to let them be.”

“Definitely,” Edwin agrees. “Besides, I honestly like cooking. Candace preferred to just order take-out so if I ever wanted something home-cooked, it had to be me or her mother and well,” he laughs and shakes his head. “It felt unfair to just expect Olive to do it all.”

“Well then maybe you can help me out with meals more regularly.”

As they reach the house, Edwin reflexively glances up at the RV. He sees Andrea on watch, but doesn’t spot Mouse or Carl.

“Uh— Andrea?” He breaks away from Carol. “Do you know where—”

“They’re over by the—” Andrea cuts herself off when she sees Carol, shifting uncomfortably. “Carl said they were heading over to the apple tree.”

Edwin relaxes, turning back to Carol and saying, “I’ll just be a minute. I’m gonna ask them to come inside since it's getting dark.”

“I’ll come along,” Carol insists.

They walk together to the line of graves, finding Carl and Mouse sitting before Sophia’s. He’s speaking quietly but stops when he hears the rustle of their footsteps. 

“Hey kids,” Edwin smiles to assure them nothing is wrong. He glances at the grave, swallowing the tight feeling in his throat. “You two doing alright?”

“Yeah,” Carl won’t quite look at him, focused on the grave before them. “We were just…” He glances at Mouse, then stands up to offer her a hand when he sees her struggling.

“Neither of you are in trouble,” Carol adds when he doesn’t continue. “Edwin and I were just curious.”

“Well,” Carl fidgets. “I found a lion toy for Mouse on the highway because she didn’t have anything like Sophia’s doll but…” When he turns to the grave, Edwin’s gaze follows, and he spots the lion plushy surrounded by wildflowers. 

“Oh,” Carol’s voice hitches. She covers her mouth and looks away.

“We can move it if it's bad or anything,” Carl rushes to say. “We just thought— Well, since Sophia gave Mouse her doll…”

“That was a good idea,” Edwin smiles at them. “I’m—” He takes a deep breath and forces himself to keep going. “I’m sure she’d have loved it.”

Carl shrugs, and Carol makes a soft gasping sound. Mouse is staring at Carol, with a whimper she darts forward, throwing her arms around Carol’s waist. 

“Oh,” Carol starts, stiffening before her hands come to rest on the girl’s shoulders. “Mouse I’m— I’m alright. We should— I need to get—”

“How about I take Mouse and Carl up to the house, they can help me get dinner started.” Edwin lays a hand on Mouse’s shoulder, gently tugging her away from Carol.

He nods to Carol before guiding the two children up towards the house. Mouse keeps looking back over her shoulder, worry shining in her eyes, but he keeps his grip on her firm. Sometimes you just need to feel the loss.

* * *

With the laundry finished, there’s little for Lori to keep busy with. She offers to help Patricia with anything they need, but between her, Otis and Maggie, Beth is well cared for. “Y’all are already doing everything you can,” Otis states tiredly. “What with your folk goin’ off to get Hershel.”

“He should be here!” Maggie shouts, pacing at the foot of her sister’s bed. Beth doesn’t react. She’s moved a little at least, curled up onto her side and staring dully at the far wall.

“Rick will bring him back,” Lori assures her.

“They should be back already,” Patricia mutters, brushing a damp washcloth across Beth’s forehead.

“The roads aren’t clear as they used to be,” Otis hurriedly cuts in. “We just need to be patient. They’ll all be back soon enough.”

Lori sucks in a sharp breath, then forces herself to smile. “Well, if you think of anything, just let me know. We all want to help any way we can.”

She leaves the house with purpose in her steps, casting her gaze across their campground. Daryl set up his tent a short ways off, in the shade of one of the large oaks by the edge of the front yard, nearly on the opposite side of the farmhouse to the rest of them. She jogs over, determined to get something done. 

“Hey, Daryl?” 

The man in question is sitting outside his tent, running a whetstone over his hunting knife. The soft shick of rock on metal makes her skin crawl. He barely glances at her when she stops beside him.

“Look,” Lori sighs, running a hand through her hair. “Beth’s in some sort of shock, we need Hershel.”

Daryl looks up again, his expression disinterested. “Yeah. So what?”

“So I need you to run into town real quick and bring him and Rick back.”

He stops working at the knife and stares at her incredulously. When she folds her arms expectantly, he rolls his eyes.

“Your man and his buddy boy already went into town to fetch Hershel. They ain’t back, sending more people out ain’t make a lick of sense.” He returns his attention to the knife, holding it up and squinting down at the edge.

“How could you be so selfish?” Lori demands. “We need them, Beth—”

Daryl shoots up straight, his expression flashing with anger. “Listen Olive Oyl, I was the only one out there looking for that lost little girl while the rest of y’all played house! I found her, not Rick, Shane, nor Hershel neither. They ain’t back by morning, then maybe I’ll go take a look. For now, go take your housewife act back where it belongs and stop handing out orders!”

He twists away, shoving his tent open and then wrenching it shut behind him. Lori stands there stunned, her cheeks hot with embarrassment and anger. It takes her several deep breaths before she can turn away, struggling to think past the burning in her eyes.

They need Rick. He shouldn’t have left in the first place. Lori told him that he shouldn’t go. Shane could go with Glenn. He insisted he had to be there, that he and Hershel had started to gain something of an understanding.

 _“That Shane ruined!”_ Lori had shouted, her throat tight with the beginnings of panic. “If he’d just waited to deal with the barn—”

“Look,” Rick rubbed a hand over his face, frustration plain in his expression. “I may not agree with the timing, but Shane did something that had to be done. We couldn’t have stayed on the farm with the barn like that, it wouldn’t be safe for Carl—”

“What makes you think Hershel will let us stay?!” She demanded, tears burning in her eyes. “Should I have just kept the pills down? Do you expect me to have a baby out there, with nothing between us and those things—”

“We need Hershel!” Rick growled. “That’s why I have to go get him, because he’ll listen to me, we’ve talked, we have an understanding—”

“You need to be here!” Lori whimpered, clenching her fists. “You promised Carl you wouldn’t leave! You said that, and now you’re just going out there again!”

“Because I have to!” Rick spun away from her, digging his hands into his hair. “For Christ’s sake Lori, we need him for our baby!”

Lori tensed, her throat closing with panic. _Our baby._

 _“Is there anything else?!”_ When Rick asked that question Lori tried to say the words. Tried to tell him she thought he was dead. That she had been a horrible wife, and when he died she realized she was still in love with him, but it didn’t matter anymore. He was gone, and she would never get to tell him how sorry she was, that she didn’t mean any of it, that he was the best man she ever met. 

She shook her head. She doesn’t know why she didn’t tell him. Maybe it's the image that still haunts her, when Rick learned of Sophia’s death. Hunched forward, gripping his knees and crying out, but before Lori could do anything, Shane was there. 

It was Shane holding her husband, pulling him close and muttering into his ear. It was Shane telling Rick he tried his best, he didn’t do anything wrong. It wasn’t her, it was Shane, Shane who wouldn’t listen in the CDC, Shane who told her Rick was dead.

And Rick clung to the man and sobbed while Shane ran his fingers through those perfect curls and told him it would be alright.

She comforted Rick after the funeral, of course. She gave her own words of reassurance, told him he had done everything he possibly could. But seeing them clinging to one another, it struck her that she can’t remember the last time she and Rick felt that close, not even after he came back. Some days, it feels like he never came back at all.

She needs Rick. She needs him to come back. She takes a few deep breaths, and heads to the house to find Andrea. She’ll ask her to look in on Carl. No one is going to bring her husband back to her. She needs to go fetch him herself.

* * *

Preparing dinner keeps Mouse and Carl busy until Carol makes it back to the house. She comes in with red eyes and a freshly washed face, but she’s all smiles as she takes the lead in preparing the meal.

By the time supper is ready, it’s fully dark out with no sign of Hershel or the men who went after him.

“They should have been back by now,” Andrea mutters as she joins those already settled around the table.

Edwin glances at Carl. “I’m sure they just decided to wait for morning to drive home.”

“Lori, dinner.” Carol calls out, heading towards the staircase that leads to the second floor.

“She’s not in there,” Maggie says.

“Where is she?” Dale asks.

The silence is telling. Edwin’s heart drops. As it drags on, he clears his throat, forcing himself to smile reassuringly at Carl as he asks, “Hey Carl, when was the last time you saw your mom?”

“This afternoon,” Carl says uncertainly.

“She was worried about Rick,” Andrea pipes up, her eyes widening. “Asked me to look in on Carl.”

“She went after them?” Dale’s tone is incredulous. 

“She didn’t say that.” Andrea hastens to respond.

Edwin stands up. “I’m sure she just lost track of the time,” he says. “Carl, Mouse, stay here and eat something okay? We’ll be right back.”

They scatter around the property with flashlights, but when they reconvene on the front lawn, there is no sign of Lori. Unfortunately, there is news.

“She asked Daryl to go into town after Rick and the others this afternoon,” Carol relays. “Daryl hasn’t seen her since.”

“My car is missing,” Maggie adds. She sounds as irritated as she does worried.

“What do we do?” Andrea demands. “Lori can’t be out there alone.”

“If any of us go after her,” T-Dog cuts in, “we’d be in just as much danger. Right now, five members of this group are off the property, and none of them have come back. We gonna just keep sending people out until there ain’t none of us left?”

“Look,” Edwin speaks up before panic can spread. “It’s dark out, okay? It isn’t safe to be on the roads until morning. The moment the sun comes up, we’ll go out and find everyone.”

“What do we tell Carl?” Andrea asks. “Both of his parents are out there. Even Shane is gone.”

Edwin winces. He’s been trying not to think about that. If it were Candace out there, he’d go after her, but never if Charlotte or Mouse were here on the farm. He couldn’t risk orphaning his child.

“I’ll handle it,” he insists.

Of course, nothing can ever be simple, because when they re-enter the house, Carl and Mouse are missing. Thankfully, they don’t have to look far.

They’ve just begun to scatter to look when a small figure comes sprinting down the dirt lane that heads towards the main road. Edwin runs to meet her, falling to his knees and gripping Mouse’s shoulders as she struggles for breath.

The rest of the group spot them and come running. Within moments, there is a crowd of adults all clamoring to know where Carl is and what’s going on. Mouse cowers against his chest, and it's Carol who starts yelling at everyone to back off and give them space.

“Mousey,” Edwin strokes her hair, cupping her cheek. “Mousey, do you know where Carl is?”

Wordlessly she points the way she came, still panting for breath. He scrambles to his feet, pushing Mouse towards Carol. “Go inside, and don’t let her out of your sight.” He takes off at a run, Andrea right on his heels.

They find Carl at the front gate, fumbling with the lock and starting to pull it open. 

“Carl!” Andrea yells. “Carl, stop!”

“No!” The boy shouts, his voice choked with suppressed tears. “I’m getting my mom!”

They make it to him before he can slip out. Edwin falls to his knees and pulls him against his chest, ignoring the hands that shove against his shoulders and face, closing his eyes and letting the furious child lash out. Andrea gets the gate closed again and bends over gasping for breath.

“Carl, you can’t do that,” she chides as she straightens, frowning down at him. “Your mom—”

“She left!” Carl screams, and there’s hurt anger, fear, and frustration. “And you’re all gonna just leave her—”

“No.” Edwin decides, releasing him and straightening up. “No, I’ll go.”

“Jenner,” Andrea warns. “You said it yourself, it’s dark out—”

“I won’t go wandering,” he looks down at Carl, waiting for the boy to meet his eyes. “I can’t. It’s not safe at night, but I’ll drive down to town, see if I can spot them, then come back. If I don’t find them tonight, we’ll send a bigger group out in the morning. Your parents are coming home, Carl.”

Carl sniffles, then nods. He reaches behind himself and pulls out a small gun. Andrea sighs and shakes her head, but the boy holds it out to Edwin. 

“I took it, while you were all looking for mom…” Carl admits sheepishly. “I just— She’s my mom.”

Edwin takes the gun and nods. “I know.”

“Don’t tell my parents?” Carl pleads.

“No promises,” Edwin states firmly. “Andrea, take him up to the house, don’t let him out of your sight. I’ll take Oti’s truck.”

“I don’t think you should go alone,” Andrea insists as they head back to the farm, Carl between them. “I can come—”

“T-Dog is right,” Edwin shakes his head. “There’s already too many of us off the property. I shouldn’t be going, but more than half the people gone are Carl’s family.” He glances at said boy, then nods to himself. “I’ll be careful.”

“You better be,” she huffs. “If you aren’t, I’ll hunt you down myself just so I can kick your ass.”

* * *

By the time Lori crawls her way out of the flipped car and puts down the pair of walkers drawn to the crash, it's well after dark. Her whole body trembles, aches and pains radiating across her back and legs. She takes a few minutes to catch her breath and cry, then squares her shoulders and starts walking.

The cloudless night allows the moon to cast a cold light on the empty road. The rustle of animals in the woods and branches scraping against one another keeps her tense, struggling to listen for the sound of shuffling footsteps. She only wore a thin button up over her undershirt, and the night air is unexpectedly cold. It doesn’t take long for her to start shivering. 

Rick is going to be furious, and the last thing they need is another fight. Not with the mistakes she made hanging like an axe between them, waiting to fall at any moment.

The rumble of an engine gives her pause, but it's coming from the wrong direction. She stops at the side of the road, her heart sinking when she spots Otis’ beat up truck. She doesn’t know how long she’s been walking, long enough that the wreck is out of sight. She sighs and rubs her forehead, preparing herself to deal with Andrea or T-Dog most likely.

The last person she’s expecting to step out from behind the wheel is Jenner. He glares at her as he gets up, leaving his door open and hurrying over with an expression that flickers between disdain and worry.

“Did you hit your head?” He demands, reaching for her. She swats his hand away and steps back. 

“I don’t need you checking on me,” she hisses, turning away and continuing down the road. She’s going to reach Rick, and she’s going to bring him home. It’s the only thing that matters. 

She doesn’t get far; Jenner catches up to her with ease. “Are you insane?” He grits out. “You’ve been in a car crash, you need to sit down and stop trying to get yourself killed!”

“Don’t act as if you have the moral high ground here!” Lori snaps, spinning back to face him. “At least I didn’t put anyone else in danger with my choices!”

Jenner gapes at her, his expression hardening. “Your son,” he growls, “stole a gun, and tried to follow you.”

 _Carl._ Of course he did. This is why she didn’t want Rick encouraging him to mess around with firearms, he isn’t ready, and Sophia died because of a hunting accident. Now he’s stealing guns, and all Rick wants to do is reward him.

“I’ll deal with him,” she mutters, sucking in a harsh breath. “But you don’t have the right—”

“The right?” Jenner starts laughing. “The only reason I’m out here,” he continues, looming over her, “is because if I hadn’t come, your son would have done his absolute best to sneak out after you again. Now you are getting in that car and coming back with me because I sure as hell am not going back without you.”

“The only way I’m getting in that car,” Lori insists. “Is if I’m behind the wheel and we’re going to find my husband!”

“Is this a goddamn joke to you?!” Jenner’s voice rises to a shout. “Your husband is with two armed men, he can take care of himself! Your son needs you—”

“He needs his father!” Lori screams.

“HE NEEDS EITHER OF HIS PARENTS TO ACT LIKE HE MATTERS!”

Lori recoils, her heart hammering wildly. Jenner freezes, seeming to realize he’s gotten right in her face. He steps back quickly, his expression stricken.

Crackling footsteps draw their attention to the woods. Lori brings up her gun, trying to remember how many shots she has left. When the dead man emerges from the trees, his gait unsteady, she takes aim.

“Wait,” Jenner says. “Please just, get in the car with me. I promise I’ll— I’ll just drive down the road a bit. Please.”

She hesitates. She doesn’t want to, but the gunshots will just draw more. She lowers her gun and hurries to the passenger side, buckling herself in as Jenner takes the wheel.

He keeps his word, driving further down the road until they reach an open field. He parks up on the bank, Lori’s door pinned shut by fencing.

As the engine ticks he sighs, rubbing his hand over his face. “I’m sorry for shouting,” he says softly. “But I stand by what I said. You need to go back, and you need to focus on your son.”

Lori bites her lip, looking away from the man beside her. Her eyes burn, and she hates it. She doesn’t know him or like him. A brief uncharitable thought flickers in her head, that it would have been better if it were Mouse shot and Sophia found, and she hates herself the moment it crosses her mind. But if it had been that way then he’d be gone, and Carol wouldn’t have lost—

 _No._ It’s horrible enough to make her feel sick. She covers her own mouth and shakes her head, struggling to breathe. Why is she like this? Why does she have these thoughts? When she heard Sophia had been shot, for a moment she thought it was just better this way. She wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, just like Jacqui.

“I promise I’m not going to start driving without your permission,” Jenner’s words cut into her thoughts. “But I’d rather not sit here all night, and I’m not taking you into town. I promised Carl I’d do my best to bring you home.”

“I—” Lori’s words choke off into a sob, and she bites the side of her hand. The sound of rustling is followed by Jenner handing her a hand towel. She covers her face, crying hard into the cloth. 

“Look,” Jenner’s tone is flat as ever. “I know you don’t like me but, if you need to talk…” .”

Jenner shakes his head. “I already realized you're pregnant.” At the horrified look on Lori’s face, he hastens to explain, “I overheard Rick and Shane arguing about going to get Hershel. They said something about a baby, you make the most sense.”

She slumps against the car seat, her pulse throbbing behind her eyes. She’s so tired. She just wants Rick to stop leaving, to stay safe where she can see him. She lost him once, and it feels like he never came back at all.

Her mouth opens, but before a single word can escape her, she hunches forward, wracked by fresh sobs. She was so lonely. All the mistakes she’d made left to fester, damning her with a dead husband she’d never get to apologize to, a man she realized she still loved too late.

Rather than push her to share or interrupt her cries, they sit there together, Lori sobbing her heart out, and Jenner patiently waiting. By the time she can breathe, she’s so tired she can hardly keep her eyes open. Jenner offers her another washcloth, this one dampened by water poured from the bottle sitting between them.

“Please come back,” His voice is gentle, not demanding like before. “Carl needs you. He needs both of his parents, but if he can’t have both, he needs at least one.”

It takes time for Lori to nod. As Jenner starts the car up, she slumps in her seat, watching the countryside fly by with tears dripping down her cheeks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had a lot of fun writing Lori's POV, which I wasn't expecting. Hope you are all hanging in there, and would love to hear any thoughts folks had.


	11. Fault Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rick and Shane return from town triumphant with Glenn and Hershel safe and sound. Misunderstandings lead to a fight, and a growing divide between Lori and Rick.

Shane wasn’t willing to let Rick head into town without proper back up, but he’s not dumb. Hershel undoubtedly blames him for the barn, so Rick’ll have a better chance talking sense into the old man without Shane hovering over his shoulder.

He always believed that it was better to have and not need than need and not have, so Shane diligently clears out the back room of the pharmacy while he waits. After about twenty minutes, two gunshots crack through the evening air. He’d know that retort anywhere, Rick’s impractical but beloved Python. He drops everything he’s holding and goes sprinting for the front door, only to throw himself down behind a counter when he spots strangers moving around in the street. 

He prefers a shotgun for most situations, but he needs range, so he takes careful aim with his pistol, listening in to the side of the conversation he can hear. Rick’s voice is too muffled to make out words, but he knows Rick would try to talk the men down. Shane holds out as long as he can, but when he sees the men shifting with agitation, he makes a call. One of them collapses to the ground, his face exploding forward in a spray of red as Shane’s bullet bursts through the back of his skull.

The fight is short and bloody, no survivors amongst their assailants. There was a sniper on the roof that Shane took down by emptying an entire mag, and he tries not to think about how young the kid looked from the brief glance he got. When silence falls on the street, it’s Rick who cautiously emerges from the bar. Shane waves to show the all clear.

They grab the bags of supplies Shane packed then have to book it, pausing only to snag the dead men’s big white truck. It’s gassed up, and a working vehicle ain’t something to turn their noses up at. The gunfire drew in walkers though, and there’s no guarantee the roads will be clear. Hershel suggests they get more fuel from the gas station if there’s any left, and it becomes their temporary home for the night.

It’s Shane’s turn to keep watch when the man they were sent to retrieve approaches. Shane ducks his head, frowning through the cracked windows. Rick and Glenn are trying to sleep in the back. They all snacked on what little junk food remained on the shelves, and plan to pack up everything left come morning.

“What you did at my farm,” Hershel finally says, “I don’t know if I can ever forgive that. But I also don’t know if I’d have gotten to see my girls again if you weren’t there in town today.”

The silence drags on, and Shane shifts uncomfortably under the farmer’s stern gaze. Still, it was his family.

“I get it,” Shane mutters at the ground. “Don’t expect no gratitude.”

Hershel sighs and shakes his head. “Thank you,” he says firmly. “For making sure I’m alive to go back to my girls.”

Shane blinks in surprise. He can’t see any sarcasm in Hershel’s expression, so he slowly nods in acceptance. After a while, the old man heads to the back to lay down, and no one else tries talking until morning.

They’re greeted by most of the group as they pull up to the farm. The sun is barely above the trees, the air crisp with morning chill. Shane hasn’t slept a minute all night, and the only clear thought in his head past the fog of exhaustion is that of his sleeping bag. As the four of them get out, Maggie comes sprinting down the farmhouse’s front steps. She blows past her daddy, wrapping her arms around a startled Glenn.

Hershel looks on with a sad expression before turning for the house. Patricia meets him at the front door, leading him inside and explaining Beth’s current condition.

“Dad!” Carl throws himself into Rick’s arms. 

Lori is close behind, her expression unreadable as she asks, “What happened? Are you alright?”

Shane gives her a once over, frowning when he spots a livid bruise on the side of her face. It’s dark purple, vibrant against her pale skin, with scattered scratches and more bruising apparent on her arms. 

“We’re fine,” Rick says as he straightens up, gaze lingering on his son. “Ran into some trouble, but Shane—”

“What happened?” Shane demands, stepping forward and reaching for Lori. 

She flinches back, narrowing her eyes at him. “Nothing!” She hisses, expression hardening.

“Lori went after you all,” Andrea explains reluctantly.

“Yes,” Lori snaps. “And Jenner came after me, so—”

 _Jenner._ Shane’s gaze fastens onto those dark bruises, his heart thudding in his throat. He spins away, scanning the yard until he spots the tall outline of that son-of-a-bitch. He’s doing laundry with Carol, fucking _laundry._

He told Rick he couldn’t be part of the group, told him that he had to fucking go. His blood pounds in his ears as he rushes across the yard, his breath coming too fast and not enough. Jenner turns to face him, his expression confused. With a snarl, Shane reels back and punches him straight across the face. 

The man goes down, and there’s screaming all around them. Before he can get up, Shane straddles him, swinging again. Jenner struggles to shield his face and chest, but he ain’t trained for this like Shane is.

Fingers dig into his face, and he shoves a small figure away. The man beneath him yells, but Shane doesn’t fucking care. He hurt _Lori._

The next thing he knows is a pain unlike anything he’s felt before. There are teeth in his hand. Panic tells him walker, and he fumbles for the gun on his belt. 

T-Dog tackles him off Jenner, and then Glenn is holding his arm down. Jenner scrambles backwards, pulling that small girl of his close to his chest. She’s crying, blood streaming from her mouth, standing out bright on her teeth. She bit him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” T-Dog shouts in his face, eyes wide and horrified. “Man calm the hell down!”

“What the hell’s the matter with y’all?!” Shane howls, thrashing under them. “He hurt Lori!”

“Shane!” At last, Lori’s screaming cuts through the blood rushing behind his ears. “He saved me! I crashed! I was in a car crash, and Jenner came to get me!”

The strength evaporates from Shane’s arms. He goes limp, and after a long minute, T-Dog gets up. Glenn stands slower, watching him warily and holding onto Shane’s gun. Rick approaches, crouching to offer him a hand. Shane accepts reluctantly, letting his brother pull him up by his good hand.

Carol and Maggie are with Jenner, helping him and Mouse. Maggie guides the pair towards the house, while Carol flutters her hands.

“I—” Shane lifts his hand to his face, only to see deep gouges filling with blood. The pain throbs up his arm and along his spine. 

“We need to clean that.” Rick starts to guide him towards the house. Before they can go up the first step, Maggie emerges with a med-kit in her grasp. 

“You aren’t going in there,” she hisses at Shane, her eyes narrowed with anger. “My father’s busy.” She thrusts the kit at Rick. “You’ve had medical training?”

Rick wilts, nodding quickly. “I have,” he assures her. “Thank you.”

“Don’t,” Maggie hisses. “I didn’t want to give you anything; my father insisted otherwise.” She spins around and slams the door in their faces.

Rick leads the way to his and Lori’s tent, forcing Shane to sit down on their cot. He cradles his hand in silence, watching as his brother pulls out the alcohol and wipes. He throws a towel over Shane’s knees, taking his bitten hand and pouring small amounts of isopropyl into the wounds. Shane hisses, tensing up as the bite burns. This is important because the risk of infection is severe. Mouths are disgusting.

He keeps expecting Rick to lecture him, but he just tends to the injury. Cleaning it for a long while, then smoothing an antibiotic cream into the still bleeding holes. Lastly, he secures a square of gauze over it all by wrapping his hand in sports bandaging.

“Come on, man,” Shane mutters at last. “Just say it, alright?” He wants it over with, wants Rick to lecture him about how badly he’s fucked up and be done with it.

Rick sighs, releasing Shane’s injured hand and the pretense. “I wanted to leave them at the Old Folk Home, back in Atlanta.”

Shane can’t follow the non-sequitur, and his expression must show it. 

“Guillermo was a good man, I figured his people have experience with mental illness, at least the type older folks deal with. They’d be the best situated to handle him and Mouse…” He shakes his head, staring at the tent wall. “But they were dead when we got there, and no one was willing to just leave them.”

After a long moment, Rick shrugs. “We’ll just make sure you two don’t work together around the farm,” He pats Shane’s knee. “And you should take the day off, get a little rest.”

“I don’t know how you were so calm. Thought you’d be holding him down for me when you heard what Lori said.”

Rick snorted. “I listened to the end of the sentence, man. Jenner went after her, so he saw she’d crashed the car. Easier to be clear headed when you sleep at night.”

Shane nods slowly, unable to meet the other man's gaze. He opens and closes his mouth, trying to find the words to convince him to leave for Fort Benning.

“I slept with Lori.”

Rick freezes.

Shane didn’t mean to say it, but the words start pouring out. “Thought you’d died man, I…” He shudders, tears blurring his vision. “Was at the hospital when it— They were shooting doctors and nurses in the halls and I—”

He hunches forward, clenching his fist despite how pain flares from his broken skin.

“I put my head down on your chest, and I— I don’t know maybe the gunfire—” He covers his face and grits his teeth, then slaps himself twice.

Rick seizes his hand, jerking it down and unwrapping the bandaging. He eases the bloodied gauze away from the wound and sighs. “You’re making it worse.”

“I slept with Lori!” Shane repeats, tears rolling down his cheeks. “I— I didn’t hear a heartbeat, and I thought you’d died and I—”

“I know.” Rick’s voice trembles, but he squeezes Shane’s wrist for emphasis. “I think I always knew. It happened. You thought I’d died, and you kept them alive.”

Shane slumps, allowing Rick to press gauze down and re-bandage his hand. He lets it fall to his lap and stares at nothing when the other man finishes, shaking his head. “They kept me alive, man.”

It’s silent for a long moment. With a muttered curse, Rick shifts forward, pulling Shane into a tight hug.

“You’re my brother,” he insists, his voice quivering with barely contained grief. “You’re my brother, and we’re alive. You, me, Lori and Carl, we’re all alive. That’s what matters.”

Shane wraps his uninjured arm loosely around Rick’s back, burying his face into his neck. They both cry as quietly as they can, not wanting to draw any more attention. The last thing they need is the rest of the group sticking their noses where they don’t belong.

* * *

Lori follows Maggie and Carol into the house, ushering Carl in front of her. He’s talking a mile a minute, asking what’s going on, why did Shane attack Dr. Jenner, he didn’t hurt Lori like Shane said, did he?

“No,” she makes herself answer that last one, because it’s not a misconception she wants to spread. “No, no one hurt me. Was just the crash, that’s all.”

Carol pushes the doctor down onto the couch, and Mouse throws herself into his lap. His expression flickers with pain, but he wraps his arms around the girl anyway.

“Mom, why did Shane attack him?” Carl demands again as Maggie rushes upstairs. She comes down a moment later with a medical kit in hand, but rather than approach Jenner, she hurries out the front door. 

“Carl, could you get the sink in the kitchen running?” Lori pats his shoulder. “We need hot water.”

“Yeah!” Carl darts off towards the kitchen as Patricia comes down the stairs and Maggie re-enters the farmhouse. T-Dog is on her heels along with Glenn.

“How is he?” Glenn asks, his expression tight with worry.

“I don’t know,” Lori mutters, wrapping her arms around herself. Carol continues to hover over him, speaking too quietly for Lori to catch what she’s saying. Jenner just sits there clutching Mouse, his eyes unfocused.

Someone should get Mouse changed, so they can wash the blood out of those clothes before it stains. It takes Lori a heartbeat to steel herself and approach.

“Hey sweetie,” she reaches out for Mouse’s shoulder, freezing when she sees the girl flinch.

Jenner looks up at her, but he doesn’t seem to see her. He shudders, tightening his grip on Mouse and shrinking back into the couch. He seems smaller here, curled up around her, bruises blooming across his face. 

“I was just thinking I could help Mouse wash her face off,” Lori says, offering him a carefully controlled smile. “Mouse honey, what do you say?”

“Edwin,” Carol’s voice is firm, the weight of her hand barely present on his shoulder. “She’s safe, you’re safe. T-Dog is at the door; she won’t go outside. You’re not there.”

He turns to Carol, then slowly nods. His grip on Mouse loosens, and when she whimpers and tightens her own grasp, he shakes his head.

“Mouse.” He has to stop and clear his throat. “It’s okay, baby just— Go with Lori. You need to rinse your mouth out. It's— It's not hygienic.”

This seems to get through to Mouse who reluctantly lets go of Jenner. She allows Lori to help her stand and follows her to the kitchen. Lori has to lead the way with a hand on her shoulder because she keeps glancing back towards Jenner fearfully.

“Come on,” Lori encourages her to sit on a stool. Carl has the sink running like she asked, and when she tests the water, she finds it's nice and hot.

“Thank you, sweetie,” she tells him. “Could you ask Maggie where they keep their mixing bowls?”

“I can get it!” Carl darts to a cupboard and pulls it open, standing on his tiptoes to reach one of the upper shelves. Before Lori can help, he drags a mixing bowl down and eagerly hands it over.

“Thanks,” she smiles at him as she fills the bowl up. “How did you know that?”

“Me and Mouse helped Carol and Jenner make dinner last night,” Carl says proudly.

“Mouse and I,” Lori corrects with a fond smile. “Jenner helped with cooking?”

“Yup,” Carl says. His eyes dart to Mouse, and he frowns. “Hey Mouse, are you okay?”

The girl in question doesn’t respond. She wraps her arms around herself and hunches forward, letting her long hair hide her face.

The bowl is full, so Lori turns the water off, setting it down by Mouse’s feet. She grabs a glass and gets the filtering pitcher out of the fridge, pouring some water for the girl to rinse her mouth out with. Lori has to help her hold the glass because her hands are shaking, but she does as directed without question.

Once she’s gotten the blood out of her mouth, Lori directs her to sit and crouches down beside her. She takes one of the softer dish towels and wets it, lightly brushing the drying blood off Mouse’s face and neck. The girl sits there silent and swaying, her eyes unfocused. They flutter half shut, and she leans into every touch so hard Lori worries she might fall. 

“Let’s get you into some clean clothing,” Lori suggests, helping Mouse up. She doesn’t know where Jenner has been keeping Mouse’s outfits, so the closest match in size will actually be Carl. She doesn’t want to send him out of the house though, so she figures she’ll just put Mouse into some of Beth’s pajamas for now.

Carl follows them upstairs and waits outside Beth’s bedroom with Mouse when Lori steps inside. Hershel and Otis are both there tending to Beth, but Hershel pauses long enough to inquire after Mouse’s well being. When Lori explains what she’s looking for, he passes a nightdress and some leggings over.

Mouse emerges from the bathroom in the oversized clothing. Her eyes are red from crying, her gaze distant and unseeing. She hasn’t spoken a word since Lori met her, but now she’s chewing on her bottom lip hard enough to make the skin raw. Lori reaches up, carefully encouraging her to stop. She does so with a hiccupped whimper, flinching back and lifting her hands to cover her face.

“Oh, sweetie,” Lori whispers, her own eyes welling with tears. This girl saw her mother die, Rick mentioned it when they were discussing Jenner. Lori’s parents died young, her father of cancer, and her mother of a heart attack two years later. Rick helped her through it all, the death of his own parents allowing him to understand her loss. She can’t imagine if she’d actually been there when it happened, let alone for it to have been as violent a death as Rick implied. 

“Come here,” she says, her voice soft and low. Mouse doesn’t respond, but Lori pulls her into a hug. “It’s okay.”

Mouse whines in the back of her throat, shaking her head hard, but she slumps against Lori’s chest with a sob. Lori rocks her in place, stroking a hand down wild curls and soothing her as best she can. Eventually, Mouse’s hitched cries ease, and Lori pulls back to cup her chin and catch her gaze. It’s difficult, the girl keeps wincing and looking off to the side, but eventually she peeks up at Lori through tear-filled lashes.

“Do you want to go back downstairs?” Lori asks her. Mouse nods, reaching up to scrub at her face. Lori delays only long enough to help her rinse her cheeks, then they head back out, her bloodied clothes folded up for Lori to wash as soon as she can.

Carl has vanished, and Hershel is down in the living room now. He’s shining a light into Jenner’s eyes, and the man seems much more coherent than he was earlier.

“It’s fine, really,” Jenner chuckles wryly. “Trust me, I’ve been hit worse than that before.”

“Contrary to your intent,” Hershel, murmurs, “I don’t find that particularly comforting.”

Jenner sighs tiredly. “Look, if it were serious, I’d know. I’ve had concussions.”

“He could have killed you,” Carol hisses, pacing beside them. “He’s dangerous. If you’d have fallen wrong—”

“I’ll be talking to Shane later,” Hershel cuts in. “His reaction was unacceptable, but the man didn’t sleep last night. He owes you an apology, but if he was in his right mind, I doubt he’d have attacked.”

“Since when has Shane ever been in his right mind?” Carol insists. “He put everyone at risk by opening the barn up like he did!” 

Hershel tenses, his head dropping as a pained expression crosses his face. Carol’s eyes widen, and she covers her mouth.

“Oh,” Carol whispers, her eyes welling with tears. “Oh, I’m— I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have—”

“We’re all under unimaginable stress these days,” Hershel states firmly. “But I’ll be talking to him.”

Lori keeps her thoughts to herself, clearing her throat as she guides Mouse forward. “I cleaned her up,” she says with a smile. “She’s not hurt. I’ll see to getting her clothes washed. Hopefully they won’t stain.”

“Thank you,” Jenner gives her a pained smile. His lip is split and there’s a horrific bruise which stretches from his mouth to just below his left eye.

Mouse darts forward, clambering up onto the couch beside him and throwing her arms around Jenner’s chest. He slumps at once, tension draining from his shoulders, as he wraps an arm around her back.

Lori shrugs. “No thanks necessary.”

She spends nearly forty minutes soaking and scrubbing Mouse’s soiled clothes. The early morning chill has given way to a pleasant warmth. Shane emerges from the tent she shares with Rick, her husband just behind him. Shane’s hand has been bandaged. He glances towards her, then moves away, his head down.

Rick stares at her for a longer moment, before heading up to the farmhouse. A flicker of envy curdles in her gut. It feels like ever since they reached the farm, Rick has spent more time with Shane than her or Carl. First searching for Mouse, then chasing after Hershel. Even when he got home, he had to bandage up Shane’s hand after the man got himself bit while beating up a little orphaned girl’s only guardian. She scrubs the clothing harder, grinding the cloth against the metal sides of the washing basin. 

She’s hanging the clothes up to dry when Jenner emerges from the house, Mouse clinging to his hip. Carol is at his side, somehow both folded in on herself and protectively hovering, eyes darting nervously,around. Lori sighs, wiping her arm across her forehead. She can’t even imagine the bad memories that incident must have brought up. 

“Uh, Lori?”

She looks up to find Jenner giving her a hesitant smile. It makes the bruising on his face pull, and he winces visibly. “I wanted to thank you again for— Um,” he gestures to the clothesline and shakes his head. 

“It’s not a bother,” Lori gives Mouse a smile, but the girl won’t meet her gaze. “Hershel says everything’s alright?”

“Everything looks good,” Jenner nods. “Maggie said you were trying to get Shane to back off so, thank you for that.”

“You’ve gotta stop thanking me for things any decent person would do,” Lori chuckles, folding her arms and glancing away. 

“Seems like decency’s on short demand these days,” Jenner responds.

Lori laughs, surprised by his generous take. Considering his harsh words the night before, she hadn’t expected him to be so comfortable around her.

“I actually came out to ask you something,” Jenner pats Mouse’s shoulder, prompting the girl to peek up. “Carol mentioned to me the other day that you’ve been giving Carl homework?”

“Yeah,” Lori is surprised again. No one seemed to think Carl keeping up on his schooling was important. She was pretty sure that Carol just went along with it to keep Sophia out of Ed’s way.

“I was hoping we could get a proper schedule going, for Mouse as well,” Jenner smiles. “I may not have a teaching degree, but I know my sciences well enough to manage middle school, I imagine.”

Before last night, Lori wouldn’t have agreed. She didn’t want Carl around Jenner and tried to warn her son away whenever she could. She can’t say she’s forgiven him, but she also can’t deny the adoration in his eyes when he looks at Mouse, or the danger he put himself in to make sure she got home to her son.

“That seems like a good idea,” she nods slowly. “I could handle the English portions.”

“I was thinking,” Carol cuts in cautiously. “They should learn how to cook, maybe sew as well? And we could ask Daryl to take us out on a trip to learn tracking and— and how to—” Her voice hitches, and she drops her head down.

“How to tell directions,” Jenner finishes softly, his gaze gentle as he glances at Carol.

 _Oh._ Lori shudders, nodding quickly. “Yeah, actually that— that sounds like a good idea. I’m not sure I’d be any good out there or anything—”

“I was thinking,” Jenner chimes in quickly. “If Daryl teaches everyone, Carl and Mouse will understand it isn’t a game. That these are skills adults need, too.”

She only hesitates one more time before agreeing to the proposal. She won’t enjoy wandering around in the woods and listening to Daryl Dixon, but Carol is right. If Sophia had these skills, maybe she’d have survived, and it's a miracle in itself that Mouse did at all. She doesn’t want to imagine if it were Carl who had gotten lost. Would he have remembered old Cub Scouts lessons past the panic of running from walkers?

They sit down that afternoon and hammer out a proper schedule for the children’s education. There will be Lori’s basic math and English lessons naturally, along with Carol’s more practical cooking and maintenance skills, and Jenner to cover the sciences. Jenner makes the suggestion that they find a nearby library for additional resources. 

Lori is left feeling somehow both unsettled and hopeful. Considering the fact that he wanted to kill himself and the rest of them barely a week ago, Lori can’t say she expected Jenner to care about the children’s future. Instead, he appears to be the only person as invested as she is in keeping up their education.

She and Carol spend the day discussing various lesson ideas, with Jenner sometimes joining them. Although it's unlikely that he has a concussion, Hershel has ordered him to take it easy, but that might have more to do with how poorly he managed his health during the days Mouse was missing. Once things settle down, Lori plans to inquire after first aid lessons and lessons about the farm animals from the Greenes.

“I think we can even get more help with the chores if we mask them as lessons,” Carol laughingly suggests. “Just picture Carl helping out with laundry?”

Lori does laugh then, long and hard. Her son couldn't manage to help out with the laundry when there were two machines and electricity.

She’s surprised when Hershel invites everyone inside for dinner that evening, though as usual when they’re invited into the main house Daryl volunteers to eat his portion while keeping watch. Lori settles down beside Rick, surprised to find Shane sitting on his other side. Carl sits between her and her husband, and as Carol settles beside her, she notices two of their own are missing.

“Where are Jenner and Mouse?” She asks worriedly. 

“I took them something to eat out in the RV,” Carol explains.

“Are they okay?” Dale’s voice is heavy with concern.

“Mouse was just worn out from all the day’s excitement,” Carol adds. “Jenner figured since she already has a hard time eating, it’d be better if they tried it somewhere quiet.”

“Makes sense,” Rick nods.

“Lori and I were thinking we should get them on a schedule,” Carol nods to Carl. “To keep up on their math and such.”

“You really think that’s important right now?” Shane hasn’t said a word since he sat down, but he finally looks up with a shake of his head.

Lori tenses, prepared to jump in to defend her views, but to her surprise, Carol snaps right back.

“Yes, Shane, I do. I think it's extremely important to make sure Carl and Mouse grow up able to read, write, and do basic sums. Those skills aren’t just so that us women can read magazines.”

The silence after Carol’s angry words is unbearable. Lori clears her throat, forcing herself to smile at Rick and continue on like everything is normal.

“Jenner offered to teach them science,” she sees Shane scoff from the corner of her eye and does her best to ignore it. “Doesn’t that sound nice, Carl?”

“I guess,” Carl shrugs, and Lori is proud to see him shoveling greens into his mouth. She’d had to fight to get him to eat them before.

“Well, maybe this will be more exciting,” Lori grins at Carol. “Carol thought we should ask Daryl to give the kids lessons in tracking and telling directions and such.”

“Really?” Carl brightens immediately. “That sounds so cool!”

“I thought you didn’t want Carl out there,” Rick says. 

Lori frowns. “I didn’t want him out there looking for Mouse because I thought it was dangerous.”

“How’s this different?” Rick’s voice is strangely cold, and it makes her stiffen with frustration. He’s angry with her, but she isn’t sure why.

“It’s different because instead of slowing down a bunch of adults who have something important to focus on, he’ll be learning how to keep himself safe.”

Before Rick can reply, Carl protests that he wasn’t slowing anyone down, and Lori finds herself placating her offended son. By the time he settles, disgruntled but no longer upset, the subject has shifted.

Carl heads over to the RV after dinner, to check on Mouse he says, but most likely to see if she’s up for playing a game of cards. Lori and Carol take down the dry clothes from the line, glad that most of the blood had come out. 

She brings the laundry over to the RV and calls a reluctant Carl to bed. Jenner thanks her for the clothes, and Mouse gives her a hug before darting back to Jenner’s side.

“I can’t wait to go hunting with Daryl!” Carl gushes as they head for their tent. “It’s gonna be so cool! Do you think he’ll let me hold his crossbow?”

“We still need to ask him,” Lori points out, trying to temper Carl’s enthusiasm. “And I think Mr. Dixon should hang onto his crossbow, he needs it in case of walkers.”

“That’s true, I guess,” Carl agrees. “But I’ll get a knife right? What about a gun?”

“We’ll talk about the knife,” Lori concedes. “But I think while we’re all learning, the guns should stick with the adults.”

As they lay down, she wonders where Rick is. She’s barely seen him all day. She peeks out of the tent, but when she can’t spot him, she settles onto their cot alone. She doesn’t want to leave to search, no doubt Carl would sneak back to the RV.

As she struggles to fall asleep, an insidious thought teases at the back of her mind. Shane wouldn’t have told him, right?


	12. Destroying Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl begins teaching the children basic survival skills while Edwin finally starts to settle into the group. Alas nothing can be easy in this new world, and when Otis falls ill a trip off the farm becomes a necessity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not support JK Rowling or any TERFs. There is a casual reference made to the Harry Potter series in this chapter made by characters who I believe would have come into contact with the series. Back in 2011 Rowling had not yet revealed her toxic and despicable beliefs. I want to make it clear that the characters enjoyment or reference to the books and/or movies does not mean I condone in any way Rowling's grotesque views and comments.

“Mom, look!”

Edwin glances up from the laundry he and Lori are working on. The irrational fear of separation eases when he spots Carl sprinting up to them, Mouse close on his heels. The pair are beaming smiles and spattered with mud. Carol isn’t far behind, a basket held against her hip and a content twist to her lips. Daryl split off at the treeline, beelining for the water pump where they’d set up a little table to make it easier for him to clean his kills.

When they asked Daryl to teach the kids survival skills, they hadn’t expected him to be so accommodating, but the hunter agreed with only one condition:

“Can’t take more than three out if we’re gonna get any real hunting done,” he explained. “Already gonna scare off most game worth bringing back.”

Since a steady source of food is easily as important as making certain the kids can fend for themselves, they decided on Daryl taking the kids out every other day along with either Lori or Carol. Edwin wasn’t shocked that Shane shut down any suggestion of him going out, but he was surprised by how upset Lori was on his behalf. When she came to tell him, she was nearly in tears, flipping between apologizing and ranting about how ridiculous it all was.

“I did try to kill you all less than two weeks ago,” he pointed out, torn between enjoying the feeling of having someone on his side and not wanting to drive a deeper wedge between this woman and what little support network she had left.

Lori flinched, her mouth frozen open midword. She finally closed it, shifting uneasily before muttering, “You weren’t in your right mind. You’re no more a threat to the children than Carol is.”

Then it was Edwin who had to clear his throat and look away, tears burning the corners of his eyes. He insisted it was alright, that he knew she and Carol would look out for Mouse.

Convincing Mouse to join the group without him was difficult, but Carl’s excitement was contagious, and she caved. Edwin was more blindsided by his own reaction because less than twenty minutes after Carol and the kids disappeared into the treeline, Daryl leading the way, he curled up in the RV and sobbed.

Lori was the one who sought him out. She talked about everything and nothing, before finally requesting his aid with the laundry. Without Carol, there’s even more for her and Patricia, whose time is already torn between farm chores and keeping an eye on Beth.

Seeing the joy in Mouse’s eyes as she comes sprinting up to them makes all the worry worth it. The two children come to a stop in front of their guardian of choice, thrusting grubby hands filled with goodies up to be inspected.

“Daryl’s showing us how to scavenge!” Carl gushes, showing off several broad-headed mushrooms. “These are meadow mushrooms, you can tell ‘cause they’ve got the wide heads and dark undersides, see?” He twists them upside down.

“That’s really cool,” Lori grins. “Daryl checked all the ones you picked, right?”

“He sure did,” Carol confirms as she joins them. “He’s been showing us which mushrooms are dangerous too, just to be careful.”

“Yeah!” Carl confirms, nodding excitedly. “Plus like, apparently dandelions are edible or something, so we picked a bunch of those, too.”

“And nettles,” Carol adds. “We’re too late for mulberries unfortunately, but we found a tree. We can mark it on the maps, and head out to pick it next summer.”

“That’s fantastic,” Edwin taps Mouse’s nose. “Good job, both of you. I’m sure we’ll enjoy everything you’ve brought back.”

“You both had fun?” Lori queries, turning her attention to Mouse. The girl cried for a full half hour before reluctantly agreeing to head off without Edwin. Daryl took the time to go over how to properly hold a knife with Carl while they waited.

Mouse nods enthusiastically, holding out her own finds so Lori can inspect them. The woman gives her a warm smile, patting Mouse’s cheek with a single finger. “How about you two give your finds to Carol and go get washed up?”

“ ‘k,” Carl agrees easily, dumping his goods into Carol’s basket. Before Mouse can do the same, he yells, “Race you!” And he’s off. 

Mouse squeals, tossing her load into Carol’s basket and desperately trying to catch up. Even without his head start, it would be hopeless, the boy has far longer legs.

The adults chuckle, watching the children vanish towards the house with wide smiles. Before she can head off, Edwin turns to thank Carol profusely. He has no doubt that it took both her and Daryl considerable effort to soothe Mouse’s fears considering what happened the last time she ended up in the woods.

“Oh please,” Carol rolls her eyes. “I think I had at least as much fun as the children. Who knew wandering around the woods and learning to pick mushrooms could be such a good time?”

“Better than laundry?” Lori laughs. “Guess I’ll get to look forward to my turn.”

Carol goes to join Daryl, no doubt intending to take advantage of the easy access to water and do a little washing of her own before she takes their gathered food inside.

“Thanks,” Edwin tells Lori, smiling as he watches Carol leave.

“You’re gonna have to tell me what you’re thanking me for,” Lori states dryly as she returns to scrubbing a pair of pants.

“For paying attention to how touch averse Mouse is,” Edwin clarifies. “Not everyone does.”

Lori looks up in surprise, then shrugs. “You have any clue what’s causing it?”

“Not yet,” Edwin sighs. “I’m hoping when the next run happens, I can stop by a library. If I can get my hands on a copy of the DSM-IV, I might be able to narrow something down.”

“Have you tried asking her?”

He stares at her in shock, mouth open. When he doesn’t immediately respond, Lori continues.

“Carl said she doesn’t want to say her name, but I figure she might have some idea what’s going on,” she pulls the pants she’s working on out of the soapy water then shoves them back down with a grimace. “It’s worth a shot at least.”

It takes Edwin a long time to get his brain in working order. When he does, all he can do is laugh. Lori glances at him uncertainly and he gives her a grin, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’m an idiot,” he mutters. “I swear, if she tells me I’m going to owe you so much.”

“How about a few rounds of laundry, and we call it even?” The bright smile Lori offers him does more to make him feel welcomed than most things have in recent days.

The children aren’t assigned to help them out with dinner tonight, but Mouse pops into the kitchen like clockwork. This time, Edwin pulls her aside to the living room.

“Hey, Mousey,” Edwin crouches down and squeezes her shoulders reassuringly. “I was wondering if I could ask you something? If you don’t want to or can’t say it's fine though, okay?”

Mouse pulls out the notepad Carl gave her, writing down, _‘What?’_ She gives him a worried look as she holds it up for him to see.

“I’ve just noticed that sometimes you don’t like to be touched,” when her expression falls he rushes to add, “There’s nothing wrong with that! Unless you’re in danger and one of us is trying to protect you, it’s always okay to need space.”

She nods slowly, tilting her head and giving him a quizzical look. Crisis averted, Edwin continues. “Did you ever go to a doctor, one who specialized with kids maybe or—”

Mouse is already nodding, and before he can finish the question, she’s writing frantically. She passes the notepad back to him when she’s done, her body language far more relaxed than he expected.

_‘I have aspergers syndrome. Mama thought there was something wrong when I was little but the doctors said she was overreacting. Then I had to be homeschooled by my dad because I cried so hard I threw up all over myself at pre-school. So they kept looking and finally got a doctor to diagnose me when I was six.’_

It explains a lot. Edwin lets out a heavy breath, giving Mouse a smile when she looks at him concernedly. “Thank you so much for telling me,” he reaches up, lightly brushing her cheek. She leans into the touch with a hum. “I want you to tell me if there is ever anything I can do to help out, okay?”

She blinks at him before nodding slowly. He gives her time to process, and stays still when she steps forward to hug him. He folds her into his arms, kissing the top of her head with a smile. When she makes her first request of him that night, for him to remove the tags from Sophia’s old clothing, he nearly breaks down in tears from happiness. She trusts him.

Word spreads through the group with actions varying between concern and confusion. Some don’t even know what the condition refers to, and Edwin finds himself the most educated on the matter, which is frankly depressing given how little knowledge he has. Still he shares what he knows, that Asperger's is a developmental disorder characterised by significant difficulties in social interaction and nonverbal communication, along with restricted and repetitive patterns of behavior and interests. When he’s asked to explain further he finds himself wishing he could ask VI, but that ship has long sailed. He wonders if Mouse would have told him about her condition back at the CDC had he asked.

Although everyone has started to settle into a new normal, Carol suggests they offer to continue preparing lunch and dinner. It’s one less chore their hosts will have to worry about, allowing them to focus on the more intricate farm chores and still listless Beth. The idea is met with acceptance, though Maggie and Patricia join in on occasion, and the groups still prepare breakfast separately. 

“Carl used to run down the street to his friends,” Lori shares over potato peeling one night. “If I couldn’t find him, I’d just call our neighbors until someone said, ‘Oh yes, he’s here. We’ll send him back before dinner.’” She chuckles, but her expression falls. “I don’t think he’s realized he can’t just run off without telling anyone like that anymore.”

“Candace’s parents would threaten to put a GPS tracker on Charlotte,” Edwin admits with a grin. “We finally got her to agree that to leave the house she had to tell someone, and one of us would walk her wherever she was going even if it was just across the street.”

He half expects Carol to chime in with an anecdote about Sophia, but when the woman remains focused on the mushrooms, Lori pipes up with more of her own memories.

“I swear I’ve tried to get Carl to do something similar,” she shakes her head and sighs. “He’s never been one for listening, and I didn’t want to ask Rick to intervene when his work schedule was already so busy.”

A flash of guilt tightens Edwin’s throat. His wife loved their little girl, but no amount of love could pull her away from her passion for research. Edwin was torn between the two halves of his family: he spent half his life helping Candace reach new heights of scientific discovery, the other lavishing love on the precious little girl they made. Candace’s parents practically raised Charlotte. No matter how busy Rick Grimes was, he was probably a more stable presence in his son's life than either Candace or Edwin managed to be for their daughter.

Here on the Greene farm, stability is something they fight hard to give the two youngest members of the group. Along with Daryl’s lessons every other day, they schedule time for the children to learn math, science, English and even history. Although Carl often whines about how ‘pointless’ it is, even Shane supports the efforts since it keeps the children under close observation. 

Beth shows little signs of improvement, and a rotating schedule between Hershel, Maggie, Patricia and Otis is arranged to keep track of her condition. She’s talking some, though only rarely, and hardly eats.

Two days after Hershel’s disastrous trip into town, Otis comes down with a horrendous batch of food poisoning. The poor man is in a bathroom from dawn till dusk, and with Patricia and Hershel having to keep him hydrated, they reluctantly allow some of the others to take shifts caring for Beth. Glenn and Lori pick up the slack, although Andrea approaches Edwin to suggest he should as well. 

“We’re the only ones who have any experience with what she’s going through,” she points out. “Between the two of us, you’ve got the lighter touch.”

“We’re hardly the only people here who’ve lost family,” Edwin disagrees, uncomfortable with the idea of trying to comfort a teenage girl grieving the death of her mother and brother. His own birth family was nothing to cry over. His parents probably died long before the world ended, and as much as it hurts to admit, the world would probably be a better place without his little brother in it. 

“Yes,” Andrea acknowledges. “The others have lost family, but none of them reacted the way we did. They grieved, but…”

“We don’t know what Beth is thinking,” Edwin contradicts her quickly. Although the girl is listless and plainly miserable, she’s given no indication she’s suicidal. Andrea raises her eyebrows at him, but she doesn’t press the issue any further.

Thankfully Otis’s illness clears up by evening well enough that he can join them all for dinner. He’s pale and shaky and on a strictly broth diet, but everyone is relieved to see him recovering. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Rick pipes up once they’re all settled at the table. “We should start up shooting lessons again.”

“The kids definitely need to know how to protect themselves,” Shane agrees.

“You know,” T-Dog frowns thoughtfully. “Maybe we should think about getting some bows and arrows, or like a crossbow like Daryl uses. I mean, let’s face it, noise draws ‘em, right? So long as speed ain’t a concern, we’ll all be better off learning weaponry that don’t make so much sound.”

“Can make our own ammo as well,” Otis agrees, wiping his mouth and nodding. 

“Bullets will run out,” Shane jumps in. “We should all start learning how to fight hand to hand, just in case.”

It seems the concepts of lessons have spread from the children to the adults. Days are set aside and scheduled for the various skilled members of the group to offer training. Edwin doesn’t mind that he’s excluded from any of Rick or Shane’s lessons, but Carol is livid.

“You need practice just like the rest of us!” She rants. They’re outside the RV, Mouse and Carl up in the Greene house playing a board game with Lori, Maggie, Glenn, and T-Dog.

“Carol,” Edwin pinches the bridge of his nose. “They’re never going to like me. I don’t think I’ll ever like them. It’s okay.”

“It isn’t!” She whips around to face him, her expression furious. “Don’t you see? They just keep hoping something will finish you off, and then they won’t have to deal with you anymore!”

He flinches, his own thoughts towards Shane rising up with wisps of guilt. “Look, once things settle down…” He closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head as he tries to think of how to say it.

“What?” Carol’s voice lowers, her body freezing in place.

“My parents-in-law,” he finally admits. “They live in a walled community. They might—” He grimaces. “I’ve been thinking once things settle down I’ll find a working RV, something that runs on diesel. Mouse and I can head up there, conflict solved.”

Carol’s throat works, her expression stunned. “You— You’d just leave?”

“No I—” He shifts uncomfortably. “Look, Shane’s never going to accept me, and I don’t know if I can accept him. Besides if— if Nelly and Olive made it… They deserve to know what happened to Candance.”

It’s late afternoon, the air cooling from the hot peak. He isn’t sure the precise date, although Hershel’s people have been keeping track if he cared to ask. He thinks it's sometime in October, last he knew the day for sure it was late September after all.

“Okay,” Carol says slowly, her lips still turned down. “Why don’t we take a trip and make sure they’re there before you take Mouse?”

Edwin winces, looking out over Hershel’s golden fields. He can see the herd of cattle grazing in the distance, chickens roaming near the hen house. This place is practically paradise.

“They live in Virginia.”

Carol’s sharp breath is about what he expects. He shakes his head and chuckles. “That’s not a day trip. It’s one way.”

“Edwin,” she steps forward, grabbing his shoulder and gripping hard. “You can’t.”

“Would have been an eight hour trip before,” he adds with a sad smile. “Trust me Carol, I know. But I don’t think we can stay here forever.”

“You don’t know if they’re there!” Carol insists, blue eyes watering with tears. 

“It’s a walled in community,” he repeats. “They sold their old house when Charlotte…” He clears his throat and stares at the ground. “Anyways we bought them a quieter place, and it's off the beaten path. They’d have a better chance making it than most places.”

She doesn’t respond at once. Then she hugs him fiercely. He hugs her back, letting his forehead rest on her narrow shoulder.

“We’ll figure it out,” she insists. “Don’t rush into anything, alright?”

“No rushing,” he chuckles. “Promise.”

* * *

Whatever Otis had, it's gotten worse. In the days following, he becomes lethargic and weak. Hershel orders him to take it easy, and the rest of the group does their best to pick up the slack. On the third day, however, he can’t be roused, and Hershel calls a group meeting.

“I need medical supplies that can’t be found in town,” he states grimly. “Otherwise, Otis will die.”

Rick volunteers at once, which draws cries of protest from Lori and a grimace of displeasure from Shane. As the quarrelling couple move outside the rest of the group resolves the issue on their own.

To Maggie’s displeasure Glenn offers to lead the operation, and when Edwin offers to go Andrea and T-Dog swiftly step forward as well. Glenn doesn’t want to take more than three people with him, something about a trip to Atlanta that went badly with a large group. Shane just seems relieved that this eliminates any chance of himself or Rick leaving the property.

They spend an hour going over maps with Hershel, pinpointing the nearest clinic that should have what they need in a town to the south of them called Griffin. Considering the urgency of Otis’s condition they gear up and decide to head out at once.

Mouse proves the hardest to say goodbye to, despite leaving her in Lori and Carol’s capable hands. She screams and cries and tries to scratch herself, beating her fists against his chest and finally collapsing into a sobbing heap. He rocks her in his arms until she’s unconscious, then lays her down in the back of the RV.

“We’ll take care of her,” Dale assures him. “I hope you know that. You’re both members of the group.”

Edwin isn’t sure he believes him, but he thanks Dale all the same. As they pull off the property, he can’t stop the tears that come.

They run into trouble almost immediately because nothing can go easily in this new world. The place that Hershel suggested is more than overrun, it's swarmed with so many walkers, they run one over while trying to backtrack. Worse, Otis needs these supplies now, not tomorrow, every hour of delay could cost his life.

They check the backup location, a vet-clinic. Hershel told them the medications and surgery supplies used on animals are mostly those made for humans adapted to animal use. It’s not ideal, but their options are limited.

Here, they hit the jackpot, and rather than trying to determine what they can use, they just load everything into the big white truck Rick and Shane brought back from town. When they’re close to being done, Edwin pulls everyone into a group huddle.

“I think we should get another car and load that up with the leftover supplies. There’s also a library on the east side of Griffin I want to check out.”

“We don’t have the time to spare,” Glenn disagrees. “It’s nearly dark, if we hit another place we’ll have to stay somewhere until morning.”

“I know,” Edwin acknowledges. “That’s why one of us should head back to the farm with what we already have.”

It’s a controversial idea. Glenn is clearly uncomfortable with splitting the group. Andrea is all for it, pointing out that they will need information about electrical maintenance and other esoteric subjects if they expect to maintain the lifestyle they have on the farm.

In the end, they persuade Glenn to take the truck back after they’ve secured a new vehicle for themselves, though he insists that the rest of them stick together.

“Besides,” Glenn points out. “You’re going to have to stay the night out here, and with only two people, it will be hard to keep watch.”

He reviews the route back to the farm with them, then gives final admonishments to be careful. “I mean seriously guys,” Glenn grumps, “Mouse is going to kill me if you don’t make it back.”

“Mouse wouldn’t kill you,” Andrea objects. “She’d just drown you in tears.”

“You think I could survive that?” Glenn scoffs. “I’d kill myself from the guilt.”

Edwin and Andrea stare at him for a long moment, watching horror dawn in his eyes. “Oh God,” the young man mutters. “I mean not like— not ‘kill’ kill myself, um—”

Andrea bursts out laughing, and Edwin soon follows. Even T-Dog starts chuckling when Glenn stammers, his cheeks flushed with red. They reassure him it's fine, and with a few pats to his shoulder, they send him off.

They stop by a hunting store on the way to their destination and clear half the remaining inventory. Battery run headlamps, all the remaining bows, arrows and crossbows regardless of quality. Heavy duty backpacks, socks, hiking shoes. They have to leave room for their planned stop at the library, but they try not to leave anything of value behind.

By the time they reach the library itself, it's nearly dark, so they close themselves up in one of the offices and take turns keeping watch. When morning comes, they’re sleep deprived but eager to get started. Equipping the headlamps, they secure the building, then search for any books covering the subjects they need.

“I’ll find us some good history books,” T-Dog offers. He pats Edwin on the shoulder. “What do ya say you grab us those electricity books.”

“Not that type of scientist,” Edwin states dryly. “But sure, I’ll do what I can.”

“I’ll check out the sections on hunting and camping,” Andrea says. “ I know Daryl knows most of that stuff, but it couldn’t help to have more sources.”

He meets T-Dog back in the entrance hall, carrying armloads of books. They found boxes in the administrative section to carry them, and there’s already a box sitting in the entryway. The titles suggest subjects ranging from water purification to native Georgian plants, with a few philosophy ones tossed on top. Presents for Dale, no doubt. There is no sign of Andrea.

“She’s probably off getting more,” Theodore suggests.

“Let’s go see if she needs help,” Edwin nods.

They find her in the fiction section, holding a novel in hand. When they reach her, she looks up with a sad smile on her face.

“My sister…” She hesitates, staring at the worn cover of _Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban_ , which shows three characters on the back of a flying creature with the head of an eagle and back of a horse. 

“She loved these books,” Andrea explains. “I was ‘too old’ for kid things by the time they came out, but she grew up on them. She would always beg me to go see the movies with her but I never…”

She looks up, her eyes distant. “Do you think they’d have the movies here? Did they ever even finish them?”

Edwin leads the way to the DVD section of the library. They dig up six films, and no evidence that the seventh book was ever made into one. They grab more DVDs for that matter, figuring they can rig up a projector outside to watch in the evenings along with a large selection of novels the three of them can recommend. No one wants to continue struggling through Dale’s skimpy collection of subpar literary works he happened to have on hand when the world decided to end.

There’s actually another vet clinic just across the street, but it proves a bust. It looks like someone raided it long before they did. They grab whatever supplies escaped notice, extra bandages and clean towels are never amiss, then start their way home.

They pull up to the Greene farm in the middle of the day. When no one rushes to greet them, a frisson of fear swirls in Edwin’s gut. He scrambles out of the driver's seat, only to see Daryl waving them down from the top of the RV.

“Mouse is alright,” Daryl shouts, nodding to Edwin. “She’s in—”

The RV’s door bangs open and Mouse crashes into Edwin’s side. Her eyes are red, cheeks raw from crying. He crouches down, hugging her tight in relief. Before he can demand to know what happened, Carol emerges, soothing at least one more of his fears. 

“What’s going on?” Andrea demands, jogging over from the car. “Where is everybody?”

“Oh, it’s awful,” Carol says, her voice shaking. 

“Otis,” Daryl calls down.

“Glenn didn’t make it back in time?” T-Dog’s expression is grim as he joins them.

“Nah, he did,” Daryl shakes his head. “Just didn’t make a difference.”

“He must have drank water contaminated from the well.” Carol adds. “It’s just a miracle no one was bit.”

“Wait,” Edwin straightens up. “What do you mean he ‘drank contaminated water’?”

“Well, he turned,” Carol explains.

The bottom drops from Edwin’s stomach. He tries to think back. Surely he told somebody?

“Jenner?” Andrea steps forward, her expression concerned. 

“It—” He chokes, looking around at the people he’s come to care for in the past weeks. It takes him several deep breaths before he can get the words out. 

“It doesn’t matter how you die.” He rasps, his eyes burning. As they look at him in horror, he adds, “We’re all going to turn.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Asperger's Syndrome was retired as a diagnosis in 2013, being rolled under the Autism Spectrum Disorder umbrella. However seeing that this story begins in 2010 Mouse would still be considered to fall under the Asperger's diagnosis. In addition, Mouse would likely be classified as 'high-functioning' but the term itself is considered controversial in the Autism community. Some people who can 'pass' as 'normal' suffer deeply in their personal lives, and are incapable of holding down jobs, while others whose condition is far more obvious can hold down stable jobs and live independently. The most important thing to understand about the condition is that if you know a person who has autism, you know one person who has autism.
> 
> I hope to do my best to do justice in Mouse's portrayal, I've done a lot of research. The dismissal of individuals who are not neuro-typical in post apocalyptic literature as either burdens or 'doomed to die' is a pet peeve of mine. Mouse and Jenner's story was born from that frustration.
> 
> Any pet peeves you guys have when it comes to post-apocalyptic literature? Although mental-illness is mine, the dismissal of the differently-abled community in general has always been something that bothers me. More difficult does not mean writers should be allowed to treat them as 'dead people walking' and only utilize their stories as examples of how you 'can't save everyone'. Noooooo I'm not bitter, what makes you think that? ;-)


	13. In the Pines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the revelation that you turn no matter how you die, Rick and Shane become suspicious about Otis' death. With Hershel's blessing they seek a confession from their primary suspect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning at the bottom with major spoilers.
> 
> Chapter Name taken from [In the Pines](https://youtu.be/D6Yj0TC4BJs), covered by Janel Drewis.

Jenner, Andrea and T-Dog roll up while people are paying their respects at Otis’s grave. They don’t interrupt the funeral but call for an urgent meeting as soon as it’s over.

Patricia doesn’t attend, and T-Dog volunteers to look after Beth so the woman can have time to grieve. Daryl stays on watch, keeping one eye on the kids and the other toward the treeline for approaching walkers.

The rest of the adults gather in the living room, exhausted and some with teary eyes as Jenner gives them the bad news. No matter how they die, they turn. His excuse for not saying anything over the past two weeks? He ‘forgot’. 

“You forgot?” Shane demands.

“I should have said something sooner,” Jenner admits stiffly. The various members of the group range from shocked to resigned, but Shane doesn’t see the anger he expects. He looks to Rick, trying to gauge his stance, and only sees fatigue. Rick slept in Shane’s tent last night. He didn't push him to say why, but from the cold shoulder he’s giving Lori and her red rimmed her eyes, Shane has his suspicions.

“Were you trying to hide something?” Jenner won’t look at him, and when Shane steps forward to get his attention, Carol stands up, placing herself at Jenner’s side. 

“Edwin spent nearly a week wondering if he’d ever see Mouse again,” she reminds them irritably. “It’s no wonder the subject slipped his mind.”

“Is that a joke?” Shane scoffs. “It just ‘slipped his mind’ that we’re all infected, that we’re all gonna wind up as one of those things?”

“He wasn’t hiding it,” Maggie cuts in. “He told me. I didn’t think to ask if he’d told everyone else. He wasn’t the only one with a lot on their mind.” If the glower she gives is any hint, the barn and the fallout from Shane opening it are still fresh in her thoughts. Glenn lays a hand on her shoulder.

Shane pinches the bridge of his nose, breathing raggedly. Thankfully, Rick takes over the questioning.

“Is there anything else about this infection that you haven’t told us?” He inquires. His expression is neutral, though his tone is cold. 

Jenner shakes his head, but he won’t meet anyone’s gaze. “No, that’s it. We’re all already infected with an inactive version of the virus. The walkers carry an activated version which invades the brain and raises body temperature to lethal levels, while also targeting and inducing major organ failure.”

“How does this virus ‘activate’?” Hershel quizzes. 

Jenner looks up at last. “When the immune system fully shuts down, it stops being dormant, rapidly spreading throughout the system to seize control.”

“Then could someone with a weakened immune system be more vulnerable?” Rick asks.

“No, actually,” Jenner answers. “We think it's an evolved trait to evade an immune response developing. The activated version of the virus kills too rapidly for the immune system to cope; it overwhelms it. But an inactive virus could theoretically be vulnerable during the ‘activation’ phase. By only activating once the immune system is fully dead, the response can never develop.”

“That’s rather sophisticated,” Hershel frowns.

“Yeah, well,” Jenner shrugs. “There’s a reason the whole damn world couldn’t find a cure in time.”

There’s little left to be said. The group breaks up, people murmuring uneasily. Rick jerks his head towards the kitchen, and Shane follows his lead.

“We need to think about what this could mean,” Rick says quietly. He’s frowning out the window.

“ ‘bout Lori?” Shane reluctantly asks. Carrying kids to term has always been dangerous, but this could add a whole new list of complications.

“I hadn’t even thought of that,” Rick grunts and shakes his head. “No, I was thinking about Otis.” Shane waits for Rick to explain. Sometimes, he’ll take his time to present his thoughts, but he gets there eventually. “If it wasn’t the contaminated water like we thought, then how did Otis die?”

“Food poisoning gone wrong?” Shane suggests. He’d been sick a few days back, but he seemed better before he died. 

“Then why was he the only one that got sick?” 

Shane hesitates, tapping his hands on the kitchen island. There’s few possibilities he can think of that make any sense, and the most obvious one is concerning as hell. “You think we have a bad egg?”

“I don’t know,” Rick admits, “but I know it’s worth investigating.”

* * *

Neither of them were detectives, but enough years on the force gives a sense for when something isn’t quite right. Rick says he’ll talk to Hershel, and Shane can’t do much but wait for his partner to get back to him. So he takes watch and helps around the farm with some of the heavier chores now that they don’t have Otis to pull the weight. Man may have been fat, but there was muscle underneath.

Rick offers to take the dinner watch, and Shane joins him on top of the RV. With Jenner inside the house with his little girl, it’s the most privacy they can expect without drawing suspicion. 

“Hershel can’t be sure what it was,” Rick dives right in. “But Otis’s symptoms lineup with something he’s seen fairly often. Liver failure.”

“He think it was natural?” Shane asks. It would be just like the naive farmer.

“Actually, no,” Rick says. “He said he’d have thought it was an accident if anyone else got sick.”

Shane raises his eyebrows, waiting for his partner to continue.

“Aside from old age,” Rick explains. “The most common cause of liver failure that Hershel saw with pigs or dogs was if one of them ingested Destroying Angel, a deadly type of mushroom that’s fairly common in these parts.”

“Jesus,” Shane rubs a hand over his face, staring out over the dark farm.

“Only real question is who the hell would have done it.”

“We already got an attempted murderer on the farm, man,” Shane points out.

“Yeah,” Rick nods. “But what would his motive have been? Otis didn’t do anything to Jenner.”

Shane rolls his eyes. “Rick, who the hell even would have a grudge against Otis? Carol? She couldn't hurt a damn mouse. Jenner tried to kill all of us. He ‘forgot’ to share that we’re all gonna turn into one of those fuckin’ things. I mean, hell, for all we know, Otis might have been an accident, maybe he was goin’ after me. Ya really want to quibble over motives and wait for him to kill someone else?”

“We have to be sure,” Rick insists. “We can’t just…” He sighs and rubs his head. “What are we even gonna do?”

“How about we figure that out later?” Shane pats Rick’s shoulder.

“Okay,” Rick nods slowly. “Should probably wait until the morning to question him. We do it now, and it’ll cause a commotion nobody needs.”

Shane glances to the main house. The windows are lit and even out here, he can faintly hear people talking. “Yeah, leave it for morning,” He agrees. “Maybe we talk to Hershel first, see what he thinks should be done.” After the barn, he needs to watch his step around Hershel. Bringing him in on handling this situation is a good move.

“That sounds good. Can let Daryl take Lori and the kids out for lessons so Mouse isn’t around. She doesn’t need to see this.”

Shane doesn’t really think it matters, but at least they won’t have to deal with her screaming. 

* * *

“I take it you have a suspect?”

Hershel gets straight to the point for which Shane is grateful. He and the farmer have done their best to stay out of each other’s way after the lecture Hershel gave him for fighting with Jenner. He thinks the old man doesn’t resent him anymore, but he knows he doesn’t like him either.

When Rick hesitates to speak, Shane takes the lead. “Jenner,” he states bluntly. “Man tried to kill all of us back at the CDC. Locked the doors and wouldn’t let us out when the whole place was about to blow. He’s unstable and has been helping prepare most of our meals.”

They’re in the stables, ostensibly tending to the horses to avoid any suspicion. Hershel continues to brush a gorgeous chestnut beauty as Shane speaks. He looks weary when he finally responds.

“How will you make certain?” He turns back to the horse when it nudges him, patting it between the shoulders.

“We’ve done interviews before,” Rick takes over smoothly. “Shane and I will question him. Jenner isn’t a hardened criminal. We’ll also interview the rest of the group individually, try to find cracks in his story.”

Hershel sighs deeply and shakes his head. “We can lock him in the shed until the interviews are over. If he’s innocent… I suppose we’ll just have to apologize. Profusely.”

“And if he’s not?” Shane points out. He doesn’t want to be the bad guy here, but their options are limited. If Jenner murdered one of their own, the solution is obvious.

“We’ll discuss that later,” Rick cuts that line of thinking off. “For now, Shane and I will pull Jenner aside, get the ball rolling.”

“Thank you both,” Hershel looks them each in the eye, lingering on Shane. “I know this can’t be easy. I’m grateful there are still men with a sense of justice in this world.”

They make their way towards the house. Rick drags his feet, and Shane doesn’t rush him. He can admit now that Jacqui’s death was her own decision, but this was murder plain and simple.

Patricia, Carol and Jenner are out in the front yard doing laundry. It’s a task that’s always done early in the morning so everything can dry throughout the day. 

Red-eyed and shaky, Patricia breaks off her quiet conversation with Jenner when he and Rick approach. Patricia wipes at her face, looking at them with curiosity dulled by grief, while Jenner and Carol just look wary. 

“Jenner, could we talk with you?” Rick asks, stepping forward as the one with the most good will. 

“Sure,” Jenner gives them a carefully blank look. “What’s going on?”

“This ain’t a conversation we should be having over laundry,” Shane folds his arms and nods away from the main house. 

Jenner shrugs, straightening up and drying his hands on his pants. Carol’s eyes narrow, her lips pursing into a tight line.

“Is everything alright?” Patricia asks, showing concern despite the pain in her eyes.

“Just a matter we need to talk about with Jenner,” Rick offers her a reassuring smile, but from the worry in her expression and the frown on Carol’s face, Shane doesn’t feel like either buy it.

Jenner comes along with them willingly, his expression puzzled as they head out for the shed by the barn. Rick pulls the door open for him, and with a questioning look, the man steps inside.

Before Jenner can realize what’s happening, Shane rushes him from behind. He kicks the back of his knee, sending him to the ground. He forces him down, grabbing for his wrists and pinning them behind his back. 

“Don’t move a fuckin’ muscle,” Shane snarls in his ear. Jenner is bigger than him or Rick, but he doesn’t have any combat training. “Give me a fucking excuse, man.”

Rick steps forward, pulling a pair of cuffs out from his pockets and hurriedly clicking them onto Jenner’s wrists. The man stiffly complies, his breath coming in quick pants as he stares at them with disbelief. Once they’ve secured him to a pipe in the wall and backed off, he finally speaks.

“What the hell is wrong with you two?” Jenner’s voice is low and even, his eyes glittering with fury.

“With us?” Shane scoffs. “Why don’t you tell us why you did it man?”

Rick steps back, letting Shane take the lead for now. Good cop bad cop is old hat to them, and there’s never been a question of who is who when they play the game.

Unlike most perps who start babbling the second you give them a chance, Jenner just stares. Shane is about to press harder when the scientist finally speaks.

“I have literally no idea why you just assaulted me, and are now committing false imprisonment,” Jenner spits. “But since we have an actual lawyer on the premises, I think I’d like to speak with her.”

Shane’s jaw drops. Jenner continues to glare at them in silence until Rick finally breaks it.

“Look,” he holds out a hand placatingly. “This isn’t a big deal, we’re just taking precautions. Shane and I need to know—”

“I don’t think you heard me,” Jenner raises his voice. “Go get Andrea, now.”

“The hell do you think this is?” Shane steps forward and only stops because Rick lays a hand on his shoulder. “You think this is a fucking arrest, man? There ain’t no judges or phone calls anymore, that shit ended when you couldn’t make a fucking cure!”

Jenner flinches, but the glint in his eyes becomes steelier if anything. “Unless you’re planning to torture me, you’d better go find her. I’m done talking to either of you.”

And apparently, he’s serious. Rick and him ask more than a few vague questions. Perps will often incriminate themselves, so long as they don’t know what specifics have already been discovered. Rick drags him out when he grabs for Jenner’s face, and once they shut the door behind them, he starts pacing furiously. 

“That son-of-a-bitch was doing laundry with Patricia,” he hisses, clenching his fists at his sides. “Patricia, man! After what he did.”

“Look, let’s question the others,” Rick grips his shoulder to bring him to a stop. “We aren’t getting anywhere with Jenner. Once we can establish a timeline, we’ll put the pressure on. Besides, leaving him alone with nothing but his thoughts should wear him down.”

Shane nods reluctantly. He’d rather just put the pressure on now, but he knows the rest of the group would flip out if he did. “Yeah, okay. Think we should start with Carol? She spends the most time with—”

“What the hell is going on?”

Andrea interrupts their planning, Dale and Carol close on her heels. Shane straightens out, rolling his eyes when he sees the disgusted look Dale shoots his way.

“Where’s Edwin?” Carol asks when no one immediately responds. Her gaze flickers to the locked shed. “Edwin, are you there?”

“Don’t—” Shane takes a step towards her, but before he can make her stop, Jenner’s muffled voice emerges.

“I’m in here!” Jenner shouts.

“What is this?” Dale demands. “Why on Earth is Dr. Jenner locked in the shed?”

Shane opens his mouth to tell him it’s none of his business, but Rick responds first.

“Jenner is a suspect in an open murder investigation,” he says firmly. “Until we can discover the truth, we’re keeping him locked up for everyone’s safety.”

“Excuse me?” Andrea raises her eyebrows incredulously.

“You heard him,” Shane steps in front of the door. 

“This is wrong!” Carol’s eyes are bright with tears, looking between Rick and Shane with visible anger. “You don’t have the right to do this!”

“Jenner isn’t a murderer.” Dale adds. 

Shane scoffs. “Nah man, he’s just an attempted mass murderer.”

“He didn’t go through with it!” Dale insists.

“Unlock that door.” Andrea’s voice brooks no argument, and she walks forward confidently until she’s right in Shane’s face.

“We have Hershel’s permission,” Rick states, coming to stand beside Shane.

“Fine,” Andrea turns to glower at him. “But you’re going to unlock that door, and either Dale or I will be standing guard. Or were you planning to just leave him in there to dehydrate?”

The standoff doesn’t last long. Rick sighs and gestures Shane to the side, and he reluctantly moves. The shed is too crowded for all five of them, so only Dale and Carol rush in while Andrea waits outside. 

“You two are idiots,” she says bluntly, giving them both a disparaging look. “Now why don’t you go conduct your little investigation.”

“We need to talk to Carol,” Rick says uncomfortably.

“Fine,” the small woman snaps as she emerges from the shed. “Let’s go talk.”

The conversation goes poorly. Carol is furious and refuses to look at either Rick or Shane with anything other than disgust. Her answers are short and cold. Yes Edwin helped her and Lori prepare most of the meals. No, he never said anything about disliking Otis.

By the time they’re done questioning her, the cat is out of the bag. They do question everyone individually, leaving Jenner for last and hoping that the wait will get to him. By the time they finish, all they’ve gleaned is a detailed lecture from Dale on the fact that virologists don’t study poisons, and that Edwin appeared to have little if any interaction with Otis the entire time they shared the farm together.

“I’m telling you, man,” Shane grunts as they head back to Jenner. “He was aiming for me; Otis got caught in the crossfire.”

Rick looks less certain, but they aren’t giving up yet. They’ll figure this shit out one way or another.

Andrea is waiting for them when they reach the shed. She, Dale and T-Dog have spent the past few hours guarding the man. His hands are still cuffed at least, only he and Rick have the key to unlock those.

“You ready to fess up?” Shane asks as soon as they shut the door. It’s tightly crowded with four of them, but Andrea refused to step outside. 

“Now that I know what you’re asking about,” Jenner grits out. “No. I didn’t have any issue with Otis. I have no idea why you think I killed him.”

“Look,” Andrea says. “This whole ‘cop procedural’ act has gone on long enough. Lay out what you think Jenner did, and why exactly you think he did it.”

Despite the morning barely having started, it feels like they’ve been at this all day, so when Rick looks at him for confirmation, Shane grinds his teeth and nods. Worst case scenario if no one else can see how dangerous Jenner is, he’ll find a way to take care of it.

“Otis died of liver failure,” Rick explains. “Hershel thinks someone poisoned him with a type of mushroom that’s common in this area.”

“You were the one desperate to get out in the woods,” Shane takes over. “And why the hell else would you have wanted to spend so much time cooking meals? So why did you do it, man?”

Jenner gapes at them. It takes most of his training not to fidget, but Shane keeps his cool. In the end it isn't Jenner who responds.

“That’s your ‘proof’?” Andrea asks dryly.

“I wanted Daryl,” Jenner growls right on her heels. “To teach Mouse to find her way in the woods in case somebody ever abandons her in them again.” His gaze falls on Rick when he says that. “And it was Daryl’s idea to teach the kids how to recognize what mushrooms are and aren’t safe to eat. You know, so in case someone abandons them in the woods, they won’t have to starve themselves for days on end.”

The silence in the shed stretches out, Andrea glaring at them along with Jenner. Rick has his thinking face on, then he nods towards the door, and Shane follows him out. 

“Excuse me?” Andrea steps after them. “The key?”

“He’s safe in there,” Shane snaps. “Why don’t you go back to babysitting?”

She stops in the doorway, scowling as they walk away. The moment they’re out of earshot, Rick starts speaking.

“What if we were wrong?” He turns to face Shane, his eyes wide with fear. “Shane, what if we were wrong? Daryl’s the one who knows all about mushrooms, about scavenging for food. Had a soft spot for Sophia, too.”

Shane doesn’t like the redneck, but he doesn’t think Daryl is the poisoning type. That’s something normally seen from women, but Jenner makes the most sense since he helped prepare their food. 

“I think we should get everyone back on the farm,” Rick continues nervously.

“Jenner could just be diverting suspicion,” Shane points out, but a frisson of unease slides down his spine.

“I know,” Rick nods shakily. “But I think I’d rather have everyone back here.”

They decide against telling the others what’s going on. It will just create confusion. The group is divided enough on whether or not Jenner was capable of killing Otis, bringing their concerns about Daryl into the mix won’t help anything.

It’s cool under the shade of the trees, the late morning sun unable to penetrate the thick forest cover. The occasional squirrel chitters at them from upper branches, but they don’t see any signs of larger animals. Even with a group, finding signs of Daryl’s passage isn’t easy. They’ll spot a footprint every now and then, but the trail dies off to their eyes more often than not. 

They hit a stream after a long bust of no tracks, and there’s no signs of them on the embankments. With a frustrated snarl, Shane twists and kicks at a tree, the pain sending a shock of adrenaline through his system.

“We’ll backtrack,” Rick asserts.

“No you won’t.”

Shane reaches for his weapon, freezing when he feels the pressure of a gun barrel at the base of his neck.

Rick’s eyes are wide, his hand out in a placating gesture. He’s too far to do anything, though his free hand hovers over his python.

“Drop it,” Carol snarls from behind Shane, her voice quivering with emotion. “No sudden moves, Rick.”

Rick nods, slowly removing the gun from its holster, keeping his hand off the trigger the entire time. He crouches, laying the gun in the foliage by his feet, then standing with his hands held out before him. 

“Carol,” Shane implores. “You don’t want to do this.”

“I don’t?” She laughs.

“Carol,” Rick beseeches. “Just lower the gun, we’ll talk it through.”

“Don’t patronize me!” Carol snaps. “There’s nothing to talk about! You two can’t be trusted to keep this group safe. If I don’t stop you, you’ll kill Edwin next. It’s only a matter of time!”

Rick shakes his head. “Listen to me, no one wants Jenner dead, but if he killed Otis—”

“Are you that blind?” Carol lets out another shaky laugh. “I killed Otis! I did, Rick! Me! Not Edwin, not Daryl, me!” With every word she jams the gun harder into the back of Shane’s neck.

It clicks into place. Daryl has been scavenging while he’s out training the kids, Carol must have learned about the mushrooms then. She prepares their meals every single night. Otis killed Sophia, accident or not.

“Okay, okay,” Rick nods wildly, desperation bright in his eyes. “Tell me what you want. We can fix this, you, me and Shane. We can all walk away from this—”

“No,” Carol’s voice quivers. “Can’t you see that, Rick? You walked away from Sophia, and look what happened to her! We don’t get to walk away…” Her voice breaks on a sob, the pistol shifting slightly to the side.

Shane jams his elbow back, forcing Carol’s arms up. The gun goes off, but he’s twisting around and wrenching it out of her hands a second later. It flies through the air as he tackles her to the ground.

He barely feels the knife as she jams it into his side. Pain doesn’t follow, not at once. She sinks it in again, then again, her face twisted with rage. He’s staring down at her in disbelief, then her face disappears. 

Blood, bone and brain matter spray over Shane’s body as the .357 bullet destroys Carol Peletier’s head. She goes limp, the knife left hanging out of Shane’s side. He starts to reach for it but Rick gets there first.

“No, don’t!” Rick grabs at Shane’s hands, struggling to haul him upright. “Get up! Get up now! Come on!”

“Rick…” Shane mutters, swaying in place and stumbling hard. Rick drags an arm over his shoulder, forcing him to take step after step as they backtrack towards the farm.

“It’s not far,” Rick pants, shaking visibly. “Come on brother, I’ve got you.”

“I…” Shane shudders, wondering why the temperature has dropped. It’s cold out, colder than it should be. The shadows of the trees pass over them, flashes of sunlight glittering in the corner of his eye. Then they’re out of the woods and there’s people running at them. Shane stares at them dully, trying to recall their names. The world greys at the edges, and then there’s nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning; Major Character Death
> 
> Sorry for the late chapter. I had to do a major rewrite thanks to my [amazing beta](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy) who pointed out some serious issues with the first draft. Go check out their walking dead stories by the way, I'm a huge fan!
> 
> Anyways hope you all are doing well! Stay safe, wear masks!


	14. Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group finds out about Carol's death, and the consequences of Rick's actions ripple through the survivors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning at the bottom of the chapter. Also sorry for vanishing so long, ran out of pre-written chapters and also hit a major writer’s block. Expect one update every two-weeks for now.
> 
> Some of you may have noticed the number of chapters listed as well that this is a series now. I have decided to break this into multiple stories. We’re coming up on the end of the first arc of this tale, and I hope to see you guys join me in the next. Also I just want to say thank you to everyone who has reviewed, kudoed, bookmarked or followed my story. You guys mean the world to me.

When a gunshot echoes across the Georgia landscape, Lori freezes, taken back to another day Daryl Dixon led her through the woods.

_“Why one? Why just one gunshot?”_

Her eyes immediately shift to Carl, ensuring his safety on instinct, and then over to Mouse. 

“Who do you think that was?” Carl asks, curiosity shining in his eyes.

“Could be anyone,” Daryl dismisses.

A second shot shatters the silence. Mouse flinches, shrinking against Lori’s side. She wraps her free arm around the girl, trying to determine the direction the shots came from. Daryl does the same, scowling as he gazes off into the brush. 

“Maybe we should head back to the farm,” Lori suggests after nearly a minute of silence. 

“What?” Carl’s expression twists with displeasure. “No! It’s probably nothing. Right, Daryl?”

“Nah, let’s head back,” Daryl turns to lead the way. “Can come out here tomorrow, pick up where we left off.”

Although her son sulks, he falls in line, trotting after the hunter. Mouse is still trembling so Lori takes a slower pace, keeping the girl tucked close to her side.

These lessons have been good for both of the children, giving them stability along with skills essential for this new world they’re all trying to survive. Lori herself has found the days spent trailing Daryl far more informative than she expected. Who knew you could make a sort of ‘coffee’ using the roots of dandelions? While the flowers themselves show up in most of the salads the group puts together, she’s taken to using the bitter herb drink each morning to settle her stomach. 

It isn’t all scavenging though. Her first day out, they encountered a pair of walkers, but Daryl took them down with ease. He only disabled the second one, asking the kids to pay attention to how he’d injured the leg so it couldn’t move fast enough to follow. 

_“Y’all are too short to hit the head,” Daryl stated as he marched up to the downed walker, slamming his foot into the middle of its back. “Once they're down on the ground though, ya just gotta stab ‘em in the back of the head.”_

_“Cool!” Carl rushed forward, his fingers lingering on the knife tucked into his belt. “Can I do it?”_

_Daryl looked to Lori, raising his eyebrows. Her stomach twisted into knots, and she quickly shook her head. “How about we save that for next time?”_

Carl was disappointed, but Daryl acquiesced to her request. The next time he took the kids out, he asked her if letting Carl take one down was alright. Reluctantly, Lori gave her permission.

Her son came home that afternoon beaming from ear to ear. He spent the evening bragging to Rick, Shane, or anyone who so much as glanced his way that he’d plunged his knife right into the back of the walker’s head just like Daryl said. She forced herself to smile, grieving in silence for the innocence her son celebrated losing.

Today, they make it back to the farm without running into trouble, and once they’ve all hopped the fence, Lori lets out a sigh of relief. As they make their way towards the main house, her gaze trails to the RV. She frowns when she notices no one is on watch. Dale takes most of the morning shifts, and if not him Glenn. Regardless, there should always be somebody up there.

“The hell?” Daryl grunts, coming to a stop as T-Dog emerges from the main house. 

“Daryl, the shots,” T-Dog starts without even a hello. “Did you take them?”

“No,” Daryl shakes his head. “Would’ve used my bow.”

“Damn it,” T-Dog rubs a hand across his face. “Okay, um,” he looks from Mouse to Carl, then Lori.

Something is wrong, Lori can tell from his expression. She reaches for Carl’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly. “T-Dog, just tell us, please. Whatever it is, our own imaginations are probably conjuring worse.”

“Right,” T-Dog grimaces and nods. “Rick, Shane and Carol are all missing.”

“What do you mean?” Carl demands, voice shrill with fear.  
  
“Carl,” Lori turns her son to face her. “I promise you, Daryl and I will get to the bottom of this, okay? But I need you to be safe, so I want you to take Mouse to Jenner and stay right by his side.”

While Carl ducks his head and mutters a reluctant agreement, Lori spots T-Dog grimacing from the corner of her eye. She stares at him, that anxious pit growing deeper still.

“About that,” T-Dog mutters. “Ah,” he glances at Mouse, who watches him with undisguised terror. 

“Man, you’re scaring the hell out of Mouse,” Daryl snaps. “Just spit it out already.”

T-Dog gulps, then explains everything in a rush. Lori was wrong; it’s worse than she imagined.

* * *

Daryl takes Mouse down to the shed where her idiot husband decided to lock Jenner up while Lori marches up to the main house. She asks T-Dog to take watch and keep Carl with him. The last thing her son needs is to participate in the storm about to unfold.

“Where’s Hershel?” Lori demands. She’s pleased to find Glenn, Maggie, and Jimmy right there in the living room.

Before any of the trio can reply, Hershel himself responds. “In here.” He emerges from the kitchen washing his hands, Dale following behind. The two oldest of their community look tired and stressed, the lines of grief around Hershel’s eyes contrast the frustration plain in Dale’s gaze. 

Lori folds her arms, fixing their host with her most ferocious glare. “Would anyone like to explain why the hell I had to send a crying child down to a shed where her guardian is locked up?”

The slump of Hershel’s shoulders is paired with the relief in Dale’s expression. No doubt Hershel imagined she would side with Rick while Dale hoped she would see the injustice of the situation. 

“Given Otis’s murder and Jenner’s background,” Hershel says at last, “it seemed the prudent thing to do.”

“This is completely absurd,” Lori scoffs. “The only person who has any reason to hold a grudge against Otis is Carol, and she’s no killer.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying!” Dale agrees. “This could have been some sort of accident, there’s absolutely no proof that anyone killed anyone!” 

Hershel squares his shoulders, preparing to continue an argument that has likely been happening for hours. “The odds of Otis’ death being accidental are unlikely enough to be absurd—”

“Mom!” 

Carl’s scream sends a chill down Lori’s spine. She’s the first out the front door, meeting Carl on the front steps. T-Dog has abandoned watch to go tearing across the farm fields, aiming for the forest and a pair of men struggling to climb over the fence. When one of the men falls and doesn't get back up, all the air rushes out of Lori’s lungs.

“Oh my God,” Glenn emerges behind her, his eyes widening in alarm. “Is that…?”

“Maggie,” Hershel’s voice cuts through the frozen horror of the group. “Get Patricia, prepare the downstairs bedroom. Jimmy, Glenn, go help them get to the farmhouse. Lori, you should come inside.”

“I’ll take over watch,” Dale volunteers immediately, hurrying towards his RV as everyone else rushes to obey.

Before her son can run after Glenn and the others, Lori catches his arm. “Carl, come with me.” She follows Hershel and Maggie back into the house, pushing down the panic clawing at her chest. “What can I do?”

“Get a pot of water boiling,” Hershel commands as he makes his way for the room where Sophia breathed her last.

She does as ordered, keeping her son busy with various tasks while she tries to silence the creeping voices at the edge of her mind. If she’d just stayed at the CDC like Jenner wanted them to, she wouldn’t be potentially facing her husband’s death for a second time. She wouldn’t be dreaming about Jacqui only to wake up in tears, and wouldn’t have had to hold Carol as she wept over her daughter’s corpse.

When the others reach the farmhouse, it isn’t Rick they carry in unconscious. Shane’s entire front is covered in blood, his body limp between T-Dog and Rick. Her husband has nearly as much red on him, but the knife protruding from the larger man’s side reveals which one of them is injured. 

There is no time to ask questions as Shane is rushed into surgery. Hershel, Patricia and Maggie only allow Rick to join them when he offers to donate blood. They all used to go down to the Red Cross and donate blood twice a year. She couldn't remember Shane's blood type, but she remembered that Rick could donate to him, but Shane couldn't return the favor. At the time, it was just extraneous information, now it seemed symbolic of their entire relationship.

When her husband emerges from the surgery room, still drenched in Shane’s blood save for the bandaged crook of his arm, the house has emptied out. Daryl recruited Glenn and T-Dog to help him locate Carol, and Lori sent Carl out to the RV with Jimmy, both to keep him out from underfoot, and also so that he wouldn’t be present if Shane didn’t make it. Regardless of the fallout between him and Lori, her son still adores his honorary uncle. Rick’s childhood best friend spent nearly every weekend at their house, fixing the plumbing and playing board games. 

Lori sits in the living room alone, a hand resting on her still flat stomach as Rick joins her. A thrill of guilt stabs her chest when she sees the dazed look in her husband’s eyes. _Is there anything else?,_ he’d asked, her last squandered chance to come clean. God, for all she knows this baby's father might be lying dead in the room next door…

She tries to tell herself it’s Rick’s, despite his cold shoulder, despite their arguments over the past few weeks. She wants it to be Rick’s so badly. She doesn’t want her grief fueled affair when she thought Rick was dead to haunt her in this way. 

“How is he?” Lori hurries over to her husband with a wet washcloth in hand. He stands there looking dazed as she cleans his hands. His clothes are stiff with drying blood; she doesn’t think they’ll be salvageable. 

“His lung collapsed,” Rick states dully, staring at his hands as Lori tries to clean the blood away.

Lori blinks away tears. “Come on.” She takes Rick’s arm and leads him to the kitchen. 

“Hershel said, he said he has a chance…” Rick mumbles. “Lungs can— they can re-inflate themselves, and he’s done this kind of thing before, for cattle and the like.”

“That’s good,” Lori murmurs, sitting him down at the dining table. She takes her washcloth to the sink, holding it below the hot water and squeezing until the water runs clear beneath the faucet.

“Carol’s dead.”

Lori grips the faucet hard. The tears burning the corner of her eyes spill over. Back in the quarry, she was closest to Jacqui. Despite their vastly different backgrounds, they found commonality over the shared loss of conveniences, and in some ways, Jacqui reminded Lori of her mother. No one could get the last word with Lynette Bell, and God have mercy on anyone who tried. Jacqui’s sarcastic comebacks and sardonic glowers never failed to bring a smile to Lori’s lips, bittersweet with loss.

With Jacqui gone, Lori stuck by Carol most of the time. They shared similar chores, they both had children. _Had._

“She’s with Sophia now,” she manages to say at last. Maybe it's better this way. She can’t imagine trying to continue on if her son had been the one to take that bullet.

“I shot her.”

Lori cannot move, her ears ring in the silence. 

“She killed Otis,” Rick rasps. “She— She said so herself. Said we would, that we’d kill Jenner, like I got Sophia—” A sharp sob chokes his voice off. 

“She stabbed Shane,” Rick adds once he can. “She was stabbing Shane so I— so I shot her.”

“Why would you…” Lori whispers.

The floor creaks, footsteps coming closer. A hand brushes her arm. 

Lori jerks to the side, shoving Rick away. There’s a roaring in her ears, her vision blurred. She stares at him, eyes wide, breath fast.

“Lori—” Rick reaches for her again, but she steps further back. She can’t breathe.

“I had to, I—” Rick’s voice breaks. “She’d have killed him.”

“Because that would have been such a loss?” Lori snaps. She regrets the words the moment she’s said them. Even with everything that has happened, Shane kept them alive. She and Carl would have died without him. 

Rick gapes at her. Before Lori can take the spiteful words back, her husband grits his teeth and hisses, “Because the last thing that baby needs is a dead father.”

The bottom drops from Lori’s stomach. She’s suspected that Rick knew ever since he refused to come back to their tent, but the confirmation of her fears still leaves her reeling.

“Did you even plan to tell me?” Rick demands. “Or were you just gonna let me believe I was the father?”

“You…” Lori shakes her head. “You killed Carol—”

“Do not make this about me!” Rick bellows. “I asked you! I asked you if there was anything else I should know! Apparently the fact that the baby you’re having isn’t even mine didn’t qualify!”

Lori flinches back, but no understanding enters her husband’s eyes. She knows Rick, better than herself sometimes. She’s made her fair share of mistakes, but right now he’s just deflecting. Still, it hurt that he was using her own guilt to distract from today's fresh horrors.

“Mom?”

They turn as one to see Carl standing in the kitchen doorway. He gapes at them, his blue eyes wide with shock. A wave of nausea sweeps through Lori, stealing her voice.

“Carl,” Rick mutters, taking a step forward. Before he can say more, their son flees, the front door slamming behind him. 

Neither of them say a word. Lori finally manages to lift her head, choking out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Can I have the key?”

“What?” Rick pinches the bridge of his nose, unable to look at her. 

“For Jenner’s cuffs,” Lori whispers.

Rick grunts, reaching into a pocket and tossing them her way. They hit the ground, and Lori bends to pick them up. By the time she straightens, Rick has left.

She makes her way across the farmstead, tears pouring down her cheeks. When Andrea comes out of the shed to meet her, asking after the others, wanting to know what happened, she can’t bring herself to say. She just passes the keys over, murmuring that they’re for the cuffs, then stumbles back to her tent. Once there, she curls up on her cot and cries. 

* * *

“You shot her?!” Daryl paces in front of Rick, T-Dog and Glenn between them, holding out their hands up in an attempt to placate the furious hunter.

The three men have just returned, Carol’s body cradled in Daryl’s arms. They laid her out beside Sophia’s grave then made their way to the farmhouse to give the group the news. 

Edwin didn’t think today could bring a greater shock than Rick and Shane accusing him of murder. His wrists still burn from the too-tight handcuffs, and he rubs them absently. Andrea stands at his shoulder with her hands on her hips. Mouse is huddled against his side; she hasn’t stopped clinging since Lori and Daryl brought the children back.

“I had no choice!” Rick shouts, taking a step forward. “She attacked Shane! She killed Otis!”

Dale breaks the stunned silence. “That’s quite a claim.”

“Otis’s symptoms matched up with poisoning,” Hershel interjects. “I’ve seen it before, usually with dogs or cattle who ingested Destroying Angel, a type of mushroom.” He gives them all a stern look before adding, “I’m confident in Officer Grimes’ conclusion. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to attend to my patient.”

As the veterinarian enters his home, Daryl shakes his head. “Man, that ain’t Carol!”

“She confessed,” Rick repeats, holding his head high and glaring them down. “Besides, you’re one to talk. The only reason she knew about those mushrooms was because you taught her!” 

Daryl scowls at Rick. He spits on the ground before leaving for his campsite. 

Edwin can’t stand here any longer. He turns towards the apple tree, guiding Mouse along with him. Carol needs to be buried.

“Jenner, wait!” Rick calls out. When Edwin doesn’t stop, he shouts louder. “She killed one of Hershel’s people, we need his permission to bury her on his land.”

“You gonna shoot me if I don’t stop?” Edwin snaps over his shoulder, not slowing his steps. Mouse whines into his side, stumbling along, so he stops to carry her the rest of the way.

Otis was buried not ten feet from where Sophia lays. Carol never protested her daughter's killer being buried beside her. He supposes it being an accident may make it different somehow, but he can’t see why. It was her daughter. If Otis can rest beside the child he killed, Carol can lay beside her as well.

There’s a few shovels still propped up nearby, and the start of a grave that T-Dog and Glenn began before Rick called the meeting. He picks one up, Mouse settling nearby in the grass as he forces metal into earth. He’s thankful that someone covered Carol with a sheet. He wishes he could scrub from his mind the glimpse he got of bone, brain, and meat that used to be a good friend’s face. 

Dale and T-Dog join him, and they work until the sun is scorching above. When the grave is finally deep enough they stop, lowering Carol gently into the ground. The other two allow Edwin to drop the first fistful of dirt over her sheet covered corpse. 

The grave is halfway filled when Mouse darts off, drawing Edwin from his own dark thoughts. He begins to move after her, but Dale catches his arm.

“Here,” Dale holds out her notepad, _I’ll be back,_ scrawled in shaky handwriting. Edwin barely takes his eyes off her as she sprints to the RV, ducking inside, then re-emerging to make her way back.

Sophia’s little dolly is clutched in Mouse’s hands. She moves straight for Edwin when she spots him, hugging him hard and heedless of the dirt coating his clothes.

When the grave is finally filled, the four of them stand in silence, words impossible to convey the depth of grief and horror coursing through the group. T-Dog is the first to leave, patting Edwin on the shoulder before making his way towards their camp.

Dale lingers longer, his eyes gleaming with the tears that pour freely down Edwin’s cheeks. At last he sighs, reaching out to grip Edwin’s shoulder and murmuring that none of this is his fault. He leaves when Edwin fails to respond, allowing him and Mouse to cling to one another in silence.

Andrea brings flowers, Cherokee Roses, the same white petals that lay wilted on Sophia’s little grave. She says they should come inside, but when Edwin doesn’t respond and Mouse hides her face, she also leaves them in peace. Eventually, he has to sit, the baking sun and ache of overworked muscles too much. Mouse settles on his lap, one arm wrapped around his back and the other holding onto the doll Sophia gave her. His tears have long dried on his cheeks, and Mouse’s sobbing has eased to sniffles when she finally speaks.

“I miss my mom.” She speaks into his chest, voice rough with disuse. Edwin closes his eyes, focusing all of his attention onto her softly spoken confessions.

“I wish we hadn’t left…” Her words choke off as she starts to tremble. “I wish we’d stayed b-back at the CDC…”

“No.” Edwin shakes his head, squeezing her against his chest.

“But then this wouldn’t have happened!” She whimpers, wiping at her eyes. “We— We wouldn’t have— Sophia—” 

She breaks into fresh sobs. Edwin lets her cry, shifting so he can rock her in his arms. His throat is tight with grief, but he manages to make himself speak.

“I wanted to die,” he admits. “I wanted that so badly, but when you came running back downstairs, I realized something.”

She doesn’t respond, but her crying eases into hiccups.

“I don’t want you to die,” he tells her. “I don’t want you to die, and I know your parents didn’t want you to either. Your mother fought so hard, and I—” He closes his eyes and shudders, gritting his teeth against the memory of those knowing eyes. 

“I don’t want to die anymore,” he finally manages. “Because you’re worth living for.”

When she bursts into tears, he isn’t surprised. She twists in his lap so she can hug him properly. They aren’t okay, but as he hugs her back, he knows this won’t break them.

She lays the doll Sophia gave her on top of Carol’s grave. He doesn’t try to convince her to keep it. Some things hurt too much to hold onto.

It’s as they make their way towards the RV to rinse off and escape the heat that Daryl’s motorcycle roars to life. Edwin can only watch as the hunter drives down the Greene’s dirt driveway, his belongings strapped to his shoulders.

* * *

_“This place is good for Mouse.”_

Carol never directly addressed Edwin’s desire to leave after their first conversation, but she was good at coming up with reasons they should stay. Even with the trauma of being lost for close to a week, Mouse had finally started coming out of her shell.

He would have stayed for Mouse’s sake, even with Shane looming in his nightmares. But Carol is dead, and Daryl is gone. Every time he looks at the scabbing marks on his wrists, the memory of Shane standing with one foot on Mouse’s chest burns behind his eyes.

It’s been a full day since Daryl left, and Mouse hasn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours. Edwin makes up his mind as he soothes her through another sobbing fit, waiting until she falls asleep to start packing.

The creak of the RV’s door gives him warning when Dale steps in, glancing at the packed boxes with a frown. He offers Edwin a tentative smile as he asks, “Doing a little organizing?”

“No.” Edwin settles the lid down. “Mouse and I are leaving in the morning.”

Dale’s jaw drops, but Edwin doesn’t acknowledge it. He tries to walk past him, planning to take a look at Carol’s Cherokee. He figures if anyone can be said to have a claim to that vehicle it may as well be him.

“Leave?” Dale grabs for his shoulder, letting go when Edwin flinches. “You can’t leave! It isn’t safe out there.”

“It’s not safe here.” Edwin jerks the door open as he steps outside. The cool October evening sends goosebumps trailing along his arms. With the sun down for a few hours, the encroaching fall and looming winter are ever more obvious.

“It’s safer then out there, especially for— for a little girl!” Dale follows Edwin over to Carol’s car where it is parked with the others. 

“Dale?” It’s Andrea up on the RV, her voice pitched to carry. “Is everything alright?”

“Jenner’s leaving!” Dale exclaims.

Andrea abandons her watch to join him and Dale, her eyebrows raised. Dale looks as frantic as ever, but Andrea appears thoughtful. 

“You can’t go out there,” Dale repeats himself. “Not with Mouse, it isn’t safe. Here she can run around and be a child, out there—”

“My in-laws live in Virginia,” Edwin cuts him off. “They live in a walled community. I’m taking her there.”

“That’s a long trip,” Andrea points out noncommittally.

“Daryl had the right idea,” Edwin insists. “We can’t stay here.”

“Look,” Dale starts, his tone less urgent than before. “Daryl may have left, but I believe he’s coming back.” When Edwin opens his mouth to protest, Dale holds up a hand. “Please, let me finish. I think he’ll come back, but if I’m wrong and he’s still gone at the end of the week, I’ll go with you.”

“I will too,” Andrea adds. “But not because I think you’re right.” 

“Then, why would you come?” Edwin asks.

“Because you’re my friend,” she says as she turns back to her watch.

“What do you say?” Dale is calmer now, his expression hopeful. “Look, I understand how you feel. What happened was unconscionable but—”

“Fine.” Edwin grits his teeth against an oncoming headache.

“Thank you,” Dale says with relief. “You’re making the right choice.”

Edwin just shakes his head.

* * *

Lori sits on the front porch of the farmhouse, trying to ignore the faint shouts she can hear even from out here. Maggie is upstairs, berating her sister for the knife Lori caught her stealing. Whether she’d have really tried to kill herself or merely wanted to hurt herself is debatable. Either way, it's a mess.

Andrea jogs over, having asked Jimmy to take over watch when the teenager passed by. She joins Lori, frowning at the upstairs windows where the arguing can still be heard.

“Should I go find Hershel?” She asks, mirroring what Lori herself had asked when she finally located Maggie.

Lori shakes her head. “Maggie doesn't want him to find out yet. It's a family affair. We'll let them work it out.”

From Andrea’s expression it's obvious the other woman disagrees with the decision, but she settles on the steps beside Lori regardless. A particularly loud yell makes Lori sigh, rubbing a hand across her forehead to try and stop the ache behind her eyes.

It’s been three days since Carol’s death. Shane is bed bound though making steady progress from what the others say. Lori hasn’t visited him, she hasn’t even spoken to Rick. She tried to talk to Carl about what he overheard, but he runs whenever she approaches. He’s taken to sleeping in Rick and Shane’s tent, what with Shane stuck in the farmhouse on bed rest.

“Do you really think that’s working it out?” Andrea states drily when another shout echoes from upstairs.

“Trust me,” Lori snorts. “When Beth stops fighting, that's when it's time to worry.”

Andrea shakes her head and insists, “This could have been handled better.”

“How so?”

She can tell from the look Andrea gives her that she isn’t going to like the answer. She’s proven correct when Andrea shrugs and states, “You shouldn’t have taken the knife away.”

“I shouldn’t have—” Lori lowers her head, pressing her face against her palms. Another wave of exhaustion tugs at her limbs. She wants to lay down, but with Carol dead and Jenner refusing to interact with any of them, there are more chores than ever.

“You were wrong,” Andrea adds. “Like Dale taking my gun. That wasn't your decision. She has to choose to live on her own.”

“Let me just go tie a noose for her then,” Lori scoffs.

Andrea shrugs. “If she’s serious, she’ll find a way.”

Before Lori can retort, shouting followed by Mouse’s sharp cries ring out from the RV. Lori stands up, but Jenner is faster. The man scrambles up from where he was sitting by the cold campfire, abandoning a map in favor of sprinting.

He makes it to the RV long before Lori does, but he’s barely inside before her son comes spilling out. Carl takes one look at Lori, then darts off towards the treeline. Lori tears off after him.

“Carl!” She shouts, pushing herself to keep running despite the weariness aching down her limbs. “Carl, stop!”

He finally does around the back of the old barn. The smell of death still remains, fainter now with the walkers burned or buried and the doors left open to air out. Still Lori wrinkles her nose, struggling to keep her lunch down.

“Carl,” she manages to mutter. “What is going on?”

“Nothing!” He glares at the ground and kicks at a clump of grass. “Mouse is just overreacting.”

“Carl, tell me what you did right now—” Lori continues.

“I didn’t do anything!” He repeats.

She presses her palm to her forehead. “Go to the house.” When he opens his mouth, she hardens her tone. “Now, Carl.”

She walks him over, ordering him to remain there while she figures out what actually happened. When she enters the RV, it's to find Jenner comforting Mouse, and the bag of guns spilled across the floor.

“He tried to take a gun.” Lori states tiredly, unable to meet Jenner’s eyes.

He can't, or won't look at her when he answers. “And kicked Mouse when she wouldn’t let him.”

Lori huffs, tears burning in her eyes. She nods to him shortly, murmuring that she’ll handle it. Jenner doesn’t acknowledge her. As she walks back to the farmhouse, she muffles a sob into the side of her hand. 

* * *

They decide to ground Carl. Rather than left to run wild, he is to remain in the farmhouse, with whoever is on watch, or doing chores with one of the adults.

“I’ll watch you my-damn-self if I have to,” Rick tells their son, who scowls at his feet. “You don’t steal, and you sure as hell don’t hurt someone trying to stop you from doing so.”

She supposes she should be happy that Rick has finally decided to give their son consequences like she always wanted. Instead, she’s left with an overwhelming sense of dread as Rick leaves having barely looked at her during the entire discussion. Her son goes to the farmhouse like they wanted, and straight to Shane. She’s left alone as ever, crying herself to sleep at night huddled on her cot.

In all the fuss with Carl, Andrea went into the Greene home and offered to look after Beth. Without being aware of the woman’s attempted suicide, Maggie agreed. The result? Beth was left to her own devices and slashed open her wrist. Thankfully, the cuts weren’t deep, the girl appears to have changed her mind halfway through. Andrea is still banned from the farmhouse indefinitely. 

Lori can’t begin to understand what Andrea was thinking. Apparently neither can Jenner, she overhears the two get into a shouting match. It ends with them walking away from each other, neither happy.

It takes Mouse five days to emerge from the RV, and even then, she stays huddled against Jenner’s side. They settle down in a patch of grass well away from the main group, picking at the peaches and crackers Maggie passed out for lunch.

Shane is finally up, though Hershel only allows him to venture to the front porch for some fresh air. Her husband and son are both there with him, laughing at some joke she can’t hear.

Lori sniffles, wiping at her eyes and blaming dust when Glenn asks if she’s alright. She takes her peach with her as she walks to her tent. She has no appetite, even though the peaches are delicious. She’s craving pickles of all things. She doesn’t even like them under normal circumstances. 

A motorcycle's distant roar draws everyone’s attention. Some of the group tense, other expressions range from hopeful to confused.

“It’s Daryl!” Dale shouts elatedly from where he stands on watch atop the RV.

As the missing hunter pulls down the drive, the two children of the group spring up, sprinting to meet him. Their animosity appears forgotten in their unified joy at the man’s reappearance. Jenner follows Mouse at a more sedate pace, his expression unreadable.

Daryl opens his vest, only to reveal a cat of all things. The tuxedo colored animal clings to him, and he holds it with ease, an arm cradling the bottom legs, upper ones clawing into his shoulder.

Abruptly Jenner turns, hurrying away from the growing crowd as other members of the group approach to talk to Daryl. Lori watches as Jenner slips past the RV, heading for the stables at the forest edge.

She hesitates, then swallows down the anxiety twisting in her gut. With a deep breath, she marches after him. After all, he did it for her.

She finds him by the stable well, using the hand pump to fill a bucket. He dips his hands in and splashes water across his face. Each step closer makes it clearer that he’s crying.

“Jenner?”

He starts upright, giving her a wide eyed look. He ducks his head at once, wiping at his face.

“I’m fine,” he mutters, the lie so egregious Lori almost laughs. 

“Well I’m not,” she murmurs, meandering closer. “So do you wanna tell me what’s really going on?”

“Just… the cat it’s uh—” Jenner laughs nervously, and Lori notices his hands shaking. “Daryl said it was pregnant.”

He says this like that explains anything. The absurdity of a grown man breaking down into hysterics over a pregnant cat is so confusing that Lori is at a loss for what to say. She’s tempted to just turn around and wash her hands of this like everyone washed their hands of her, but Jenner looks so miserable. With a sigh, she ducks into the stable shed, turning up clean towels in a drawer.

She wets the towel in the bucket Jenner filled, using it to wash his face and hands. His eyes are bloodshot, but he’s hardly the only member of the group struggling with sleep or tears these days.

“I, uh,” Jenner starts to talk as she works, perhaps taking her silence as permission to continue. “I had a cat when I was a teenager. Or, really it was a stray that I was looking after. I’d sneak her food, not like my parents would have let me keep her if they knew.”

Lori finishes with his hands, hanging the towel over the water pump to dry. She nods to a bench against the stable wall, and the two of them sit down. She tries not to let her anger at the avoidance of her now closest living friend sabotage what feels like the first real conversation they’ve had since Carol’s death.

“My brother was a— he wasn’t—” Jenner has a hard time continuing now that they’re sitting, or maybe it's the story itself.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning?” Lori prompts, offering him a smile when he looks at her uncertainly.

“I don’t think you’d enjoy that,” he grimaces. “Or me for that matter…” he takes a deep breath, steeling himself for whatever he’s about to say. 

“My younger brother was a very troubled person,” he says flatly, no emotion evident in his tone, but his face twisted with pain. “His girlfriend was scared to break up with him, she asked me for help. So I told him to leave her alone. When he didn’t, I broke his nose. He left her alone after that but uh—” He grits his teeth, hunching forward and shuddering. 

“Few days later, I came home to this horrible smell. It was coming from the kitchen. If mom or dad got home to that, there would’ve been hell to pay so I went to clean up whatever it was.”

Lori nearly tells him to stop when he pauses yet again. She isn’t sure she wants to know how this story ends. Before she can run away, she makes herself reach forward, grabbing one of Jenner’s hands and squeezing. 

He looks up in surprise, his eyes haunted. After a moment he turns his hand over, gripping back.

“My cat, she was pregnant. I was sneaking her into my room at night, letting her out the window in the morning. My brother, he— he put her in the microwave. Cut her open once she was dead, left her for me to find.”

The words don’t go together. They don’t make sense. Lori sits there, trying to parse out their meaning. When she finally does, a wave of nausea hits her, so intense there is nothing to do but bend forward and vomit. 

She throws up until there’s nothing but bile, Jenner crying out in alarm, asking if she’s alright, saying he’s sorry. The pain in his voice, the fear, it cuts down to her core.

“I’m alright,” Lori mutters, becoming aware of Jenner holding her hair back. “Could you get me some water?”

He returns with a tin of clear water from the pump. She rinses her mouth, spitting a few times until the bitter taste fades. 

“How did you know it was him?” She sets the cup down on the ground, wiping her mouth across her arm. 

Jenner looks at her worriedly, but he responds at least. “She scratched him to hell, and he told me.”

She shakes her head, her stomach churning uneasily. There’s nothing left to throw up, so she fights back her gag reflex.

“I don’t think you need to worry about cats being microwaved here,” she murmurs at last. When she sees the shocked expression on Jenner’s face, her words catch up with her. 

“Oh God,” she presses a hand to her mouth. “I didn’t— I—”

To her surprise Jenner’s lips twist into a faint smile. He shakes his head, a giggle escaping his lips that he tries to cover with his hand. He can’t contain it, doubling forward and wheezing with laughter. 

Lori finds herself smiling, relieved that Jenner isn’t angry with her. She says the most awful things sometimes, like there’s no filter between her thoughts and her words. She can’t count the number of times it ended in an argument between her and Rick.

“I’m sorry,” Jenner mutters at last, his eyes crinkled with amusement. “I’m sorry, I swear I’m okay, it just…” He shakes his head and sighs, slumping against the wall of the stable.

Lori pats his hand and they sit there quietly, a faint breeze easing the afternoon heat.

“I don’t really talk about my childhood,” Jenner shares. “Or, didn’t I guess. I don’t know. Candace tried to understand but she just…” He shrugs.

“Did you talk to Carol?” Carol had worried that he’d leave the farm. Lori dismissed it out of hand, the idea of leaving this place even with all the conflicts they’ve had, it seemed so absurd.

“Hmm? No I— Not exactly.” Jenner shrugs. “She just, sort of knew.”

Lori supposes that makes sense with the way Ed was. She can’t say anyone grieved overly hard when Carol’s husband died, the general feeling was more relief. Relief that they wouldn’t have to watch Carol’s skin darken with bruises, that they wouldn’t have to watch Sophia flinch every time her father raised his voice.

None of it matters now. Sophia outlived her abusive father by less than a week, Carol less than a month. She’s so tired of losing people.

“I’m going to take Mouse to Virginia.”

Lori can’t speak. She squeezes Jenner’s hand hard, unable to take a fresh breath.

“I can’t stay here after… I just can’t.” Jenner continues on, gazing into the distance. “Dale made me agree to stay if Daryl came back—” He shakes his head and sighs. “Just, everyone will be happier with me gone. Maybe if I’d left before Carol…” 

“Don’t.” It’s the only word she can manage. When Jenner turns to look at her with a frown she repeats it.

“Don’t you dare,” she hisses the words now, squeezing his hand as hard as she can. “Don’t leave me here with—”

She cuts herself off, unsure what to even say. With what? With a husband who hates her? With a son who can’t stand her?

“Lori—” Jenner looks away, unable to meet her eye. “I just think—”

“Don’t let Carol be right!” She stands up, wrapping her arms around herself as she paces away. “They’re wrong about you! Rick, Shane, they’re wrong and what Carol did was awful, but you belong here as much as any of us!”

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the distant sound of excited voices and the rustle of leaves. Jenner bites his lip, uncertainty written on his face. When he finally nods, Lori feels like she can breathe again. 

“Okay.” He stands, coming over and taking her hand. The smile he offers her is broken, though no less genuine for it. “We’ll stay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning, discussion of Animal Abuse/Death.
> 
> Would love to hear anybody's thoughts about literally anything. If you need suggestions for something in particular;
> 
> Did you expect Daryl to come back after he left? 
> 
> Do you think Jenner would be better off just leaving on his own?


	15. All Good Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl, Jenner and Mouse each struggle with their place in the group, finding acceptance in their own ways.

Daryl had no intention of returning when he left the Greene’s farm. Carol’s blood was still on his hands, the image of her shattered skull showing up every time he shut his eyes. He knows that Otis’s death was not on him, no matter what Rick said. Even so, he can’t help thinking that if he’d found Sophia and Mouse that first night, none of this would have happened.

He should have kept going, even in the dark. Not like a couple walkers are that dangerous to him, he could’ve just wandered and yelled for them girls until they finally replied. Hunkered down in that little farmhouse they probably holed up in before Sophia went off to find help and left Mouse to sit tight. 

He’s spent hours wondering what happened to separate them, and it's the only thing that makes a lick of sense. Ain’t either girl’s fault, Sophia was bigger, she probably felt responsible for keeping Mouse safe. It’s why she left the girl her doll, it’s why Mouse was the one who made it in the end. Sophia’s sacrifice wasn't in vain, Daryl just wishes it hadn’t happened at all. 

As he sped down the dirt driveway, hot air whipping across his cheeks, his mind roamed back over the past few months. He wanted to kill Ed Peletier more times than he could count, but you don’t murder a man for being a piece of shit. Hell, even in the old world, they rarely got locked up, and never when their own wife were defending them. Carol would get up every day with a smile, eyes bright with unshed tears, long sleeves pulled down to cover fresh bruises. Sophia weren’t more than a shadow, flitting along at her mother’s side.

And they weren’t his problem.

“We’ll case the place for a couple of days.” Merle decided. “Get their trust so’s we can be on watch. Take the supplies we can load up quick and head out.”

Daryl never contradicted him, but he was quick to suggest they linger any time the opportunity arose. He doesn't know if it was his brother’s laziness, or just the slowly dawning realization that they could be the last damn humans on Earth, but eventually Merle stopped suggesting they rob the group and leave. Daryl was relieved, seeing the kids' faces light up when they had fresh meat in their mushy stews was one of the only things that made him feel the faintest trace of happiness.

He spends that first night holed up in a random farmhouse after putting down the pair of walkers trapped inside. As he drifts to sleep, he wonders where the hell his brother might have gone by now. 

_ “Took you long enough, bro.” _ Merle’s sneering words echo across his mind.  _ “Ya got a thing for little girls now? Didn’t look for Merle for even a full day before ya gave up.” _

“Ain’t like that,” Daryl mumbles, rolling onto his side and shivering. Ain’t his fault his dumbass brother went and cut off his hand to escape that rooftop, ain’t his fault Merle got himself cuffed up there neither. Maybe if Merle weren’t such a racist piece of shit, they wouldn’t have wound up separated to begin with. 

_ “Oho, so that’s how it is?” _ Merle purrs.  _ “I take care of you all those years, this is how you repay me? Cozying up with niggers and democrats?” _

“Shut up!” Daryl sits up with a gasp, waking from the hazy half sleep he managed. A bang on the front door makes his heart pound, and for a moment he thinks it’s Merle come home drunk or high or who the fuck knows what. It’s just a walker of course, and Daryl puts it down before collapsing back into sleep. 

The next day, he sets out to do what he should’ve done as soon as Mouse was safe and sound. It ain’t like there are many places he and Merle would go to meet up, but he still checks the most likely candidates. Their shit ass little hometown, a rehab clinic Merle went to the few times he tried to clean up. That was over a decade ago though, and the place looks long closed even before the world decided to wipe itself out.

He ends up finding a stash of vodka in the back of a bar they used to frequent, confirmation that Merle had never been there, and climbs up onto the roof to drink and smoke. He watches the sun set with a burn in his eyes and throat that he tells himself is from the alcohol.

A clatter draws his attention. Across the road is a dumpster with a trio of walkers bumping against it. The lid is up, but they don’t have the coordination to clamber inside. Instead they’re reaching in, stretching their arms like there’s something alive inside.

_ “Ain’t nothin’,”  _ his brother states in the back of his mind.  _ “Even if it is, ain’t none of your concern. Not like it matters if some possum starves itself at the bottom of a trash can.” _

Daryl drops the butt of his cigarette and stomps it out, climbing down the back of the building and making his way to the front. With the walkers distracted, it's easy to put bolts in the backs of their heads, then jog over to see what they were grabbing for. 

Inside the dumpster is a shivering cat, cowering against the back wall. Barely takes a glance to realize the poor thing’s pregnant as hell, her belly bulging while her bones stand out from lack of regular food.

“Shit,” Daryl mutters, frowning at the terrified cat for a moment. He digs into his pocket, pulling out a packet of jerky he found a few days back. “C’mon mama, here ya go.”

The cat approaches him warily, sniffing his fingers before reluctantly accepting the jerky. It takes him until after dark, and well beyond any reasonable time frame to linger, but at last she lets him run a hand down her back and legs, checking for injuries. 

Aside from being underfed, she seems alright, and she’s surprisingly placid when he lifts her out of the dumpster. She rubs her face up against his unshaven chin, purring up a storm as he supports her hind legs. 

She might make it on her own, even pregnant, but Daryl doesn't doubt for a minute that her kittens won’t. He carries her back into the bar and beds down for the night. The cat makes a home on his chest, rubbing her face into his hand any time he brushes dirty fingers across her soft fur. 

In the morning, he makes up his mind. He’s checked the places his brother would’ve gone, so it’s not like there’s anywhere else left to look. He buttons the cat up in his vest, nestled tightly against his chest as he mounts his brother’s motorcycle, and drives back to the place that will become her new home.

“It’s lucky you found her,” Hershel shares as he makes up a little bed in the pantry. “She’s young, probably a first time mother. Odds are none of her kittens would have survived. It was hard enough for strays when they could beg for scraps.”

“What did you name her?” Beth demands, the formerly listless girl enthralled with the wary cat crouched low in the back of the pantry, eyeing all the strangers with an occasional hiss. 

“Didn’t,” Daryl grunts, offering the nervous mother a hand. She sniffs him and rubs against it, relaxing at the familiar smell. 

“Well, you should give her one,” Beth continues cheerily. “Since you found her and all.”

“She’s gonna be a mama soon,” Daryl shrugs. “Good a name as any.”

It sticks, though he couldn’t say why. Daryl doesn’t linger, he just gathers some supplies, reasoning he’s more than contributed his fair share, before heading back out onto the road.

Hershel has a good harvest that year, which is fortunate considering the size of the group they need to feed. Still, they need to scavenge for all sorts of supplies: batteries, fuel, canned foods and medicine. While Daryl’s out, he often spots abandoned farm fields for the taking, cattle and fowl left to roam. They’re too big or too fast for the walkers to get them easily unless they're already injured. He finds himself heading back to let the others know about the finds more days than not.

“We’ll have to start doing runs,” Rick states to the gathered adults, tapping the locations on a map Daryl marked up. “I’ll take the lead.” For once, the man doesn’t get his way, two-teamed by the unusual alliance of Shane and Hershel. 

Shane’s motive is obvious to anyone with two eyes, but Hershel points out that with potentially violent groups out there, the farm can never be left unprotected. Who better to keep close to the children and those who can’t defend themselves than the most experienced shooters?

Daryl snorts at the idea of Rick protecting anyone, man couldn't even protect his partner from an untrained woman without killing her. Still, he’s relieved they won’t be the ones heading off property, he’d rather not spend time around them unless he has to. 

“I’ll do it,” Glenn volunteers, the young Korean kid stepping up like he did back at their quarry camp. “We should keep the groups limited in size, more room for supplies and fewer people to keep track of.”

“Can just take you where I found the place,” Daryl offers with a shrug. “Better than tryin’ to find it off a map, I figure.”

Glenn nods in gratitude, and it doesn’t take long for Andrea and T-Dog to volunteer as well. Andrea has been practicing her marksmanship, and the woman is quickly becoming a crack-shot. T-Dog is a hard worker, and one of the few adults in the group who is both fit and has no minors depending on them. It’s Maggie who surprises everyone. 

“If you’re going, so am I,” the young woman insists, glowering at her boyfriend. Glenn splutters, and Hershel frowns with displeasure, but no one is stupid enough to openly try and deny her.

With Maggie’s experience, they are able to harvest orchards and fields left to grow wild. They corral ducks for the pond, and haul an entire pre-built ‘house’ for them back to the farm.

“Gonna have to worry about foxes making off with the ducks now, aren’t we?” T-Dog asks as they open the door and unleash the fowl onto their new home.

“Probably not,” Maggie points to a particularly large white bird, flapping its wings and hissing as it marches down the wooden ramp. “That one’s a goose. Usually, they’re bought to guard the flock. They’re aggressive, but he’ll keep most small predators at bay.”

The end of October brings a cold front through Georgia’s heartland. There’s no snow, but night time temperatures dip into the low forties and push most of the group into the farmhouse for warmth. Only Andrea, Jenner and Mouse remain out in the RV, even Dale favors the house.

Doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out why Jenner doesn't want to sleep under the same roof as Rick or Shane, but Daryl doesn’t have anywhere else to go, so despite invitations to the contrary, he sticks to his tent, bundled up under heavy blankets and shivering the nights through.

He spends most of November off the farm, alone and searching for a brother he knows never bothered to look for him, or showing Glenn’s crew where they can find supplies worth taking. Not every place works out, like a prison that’s too overrun to be worth the risk. After Glenn strolls inside covered in walker goo and shuts the internal gate, they clear the whole front yard easily, no bullets needed, but the inside is packed with dozens upon dozens of inmates and civilians. There’s probably a wall down somewhere, and with no guarantees for good finds, they abandon the location in favor of easier runs. 

The first week of December they finally get sub-freezing temperatures, and Daryl is forced indoors. Rather than take a cot, he bundles up on the couch. It's not like he’ll be spending most of his time there anyways. His first night inside, loud meowing wakes him. Groggily, Daryl pushes himself up, climbing the stairs and banging on Hershel’s office. The old man and T-Dog share it with one of those twin sized beds that has a roll out mattress underneath the main one. Glenn and Maggie decided to bring it back when they passed a mattress store during a run in an effort to put everyone in a proper bed.

“Mama’s calling,” Daryl grunts when a tired Hershel opens the door. He heads back downstairs to sleep as the veterinarian prepares to handle the job he originally trained for. 

Come dawn, there are a trio of newborn fluff balls for Carl, Mouse and Beth to coo over. Over the past two months, Mama has warmed up a little, tolerating Beth, Mouse and Hershel best of the group. Hershel’s got training, Beth feeds her most of the time, and Mouse seems just about harmless to anyone who gets a good look at her. 

“They’re going to be barn cats, to help keep pests under control.” Hershel tries to remind the kids. Turns out the Greenes actually had a semi-feral cat for just that purpose, rehomed from the inner city. He passed away earlier in the year, right before everything went to hell.

“But we can name them, right?” The earnest joy that has so long been absent from Beth’s face makes Hershel’s answer obvious. 

“Youngest first,” the veterinarian nods to Mouse, who looks up in surprise. “Go on, which one do you want?”   
  
She goes back to staring at the kittens, but rather than picking, she sucks on her lip, swaying in place. Jenner lays a hand on her shoulder and asks if she’d rather the others go first, and Mouse emphatically nods.

Carl is more than happy to get pick of the litter, pointing to the largest of the kittens, a mottled black and white, scrambling the pattern of its tuxedo mother. 

“That one will be Rorschach!” He declares.

There are scattered chuckles throughout the watching adults, all of whom have been on the end of one of Carl’s rambles about whichever comic has caught his eye most recently. Glenn always tries to grab him new ones when he spots them. They don’t take up much space, and Daryl figures it's better for the kids to stay busy and safe.

“Sweetie, what if it turns out to be a girl?” Lori points out. “How about Patches, or maybe Spot?”

“I think Rorschach is a good name,” Rick retorts, never even looking at his wife.

“We could always call them Rory,” Beth interjects with an uncomfortable smile.

The teenager dubs the white kitten Luna, but Mouse still doesn’t pick for the pitch black kitten, despite scooping it up with excited reverence. She says she doesn’t know what to name it yet, and the matter is dropped.

The latter half of the month brings snow, a rarity outside the mountains this far to the south. It makes the roads all but impassable, and kindles a celebratory spirit amongst everyone. Beth leads the kids in building a snowman, pulling Glenn and even Maggie into the fun of a snowball fight. Stuck on the farm until the weather clears, Daryl allows himself to relax, sleeping in late, then heading out for the afternoon to see if he can spot a deer or bird worth shooting. 

Rick and Shane chop down a tree for the kids to decorate on Christmas Eve. They spend the evening watching Christmas films and singing songs, hyping the kids up for Santa even though they’re all old enough to know better by now.

On Christmas day they take their time relaxing, enjoying hot tea or dandelion coffee in Lori and T-Dog’s case. The sun sparkles on the coating of snow across the fields, and when Maggie and Hershel release the cattle from the barn they go haring out in it, jumping with nearly as much joy as the kids themselves when it first fell. 

While the ability to give presents is limited, those who stayed at the farm made requests of the run group for weeks before the storm ever hit. Patricia and Beth worked together to knit everyone some article of clothing or another, Daryl gets a pair of green fingerless gloves which fit surprisingly well.

“Here,” Andrea hands him a pack of cigarettes, his favorite brand. “Don’t tell Dale, he’d say I was being a bad influence.”

“Cancer don’t seem like a bad way to go these days,” Daryl grunts, pocketing the cigarettes and making a note to pay her back when he gets a chance.

The main joy is in watching the kids unwrap their gifts. Carl receives a variety of action figures, as well as The Watchmen, a film version of the comics that gave Rorschach her name. Lori comments on the rating, and once again, Rick is at odds with her assessment, arguing that it can’t be worse than reality. Andrea found Mouse a plush bunny at Jenner’s behest, which she hugs hard and won’t let go of the moment it's unwrapped. Dale gives her a copy of the Silmarillion, ‘to complete her Tolkien education,’ but it’s Beth who damn near sends the girl into hysterics.

“It’s also from Glenn,” the young woman explains as Mouse cautiously unwraps the book shaped package. 

“I— I just got it,” Glenn sputters, but Beth shakes her head and grins.

“I’d never have been able to give it to you if Glenn didn’t find it, so it's from us,” she declares.

As the last of the tissue paper is pulled aside, Mouse reveals a book on sign language. She stares down at the cover with wide eyes, and Beth continues speaking rapidly. 

“I thought we could practice together,” she offers, twisting her hands. “I mean, we don’t have to, just, I thought it might be faster than having to write everything down. But if you don’t like it—”

A whimper escapes Mouse, then she tosses the book onto the couch and lurches up. She throws her arms around Beth in a quick hug, but before the teen can respond, she flees to Jenner and hides her face in his side.

“I think she likes it,” Jenner states, a smile spreading across his face as he pats Mouse’s back.

The girl has been withdrawn since Carol’s death, spending all her time clinging to Jenner or playing with the kittens in the pantry. After Christmas, she stays a few nights a week in the farmhouse, sleeping on Beth’s cot in the master bedroom where Lori and Patricia share a queen bed. It was a good idea for a gift, and Daryl notices the two start clumsily signing at each other before bursting into giggles.

In mid-January, he and the run group return to find the fences down and a pile of walkers dumped in the back of the big white truck. A small herd stumbled upon the farm, most distracted by the cattle, hopelessly outmatched as they chased after the normally placid animals. The few that made for the farmhouse were dispatched with nothing more than shaken nerves. They spend the rest of the month reinforcing the fences, hopefully well enough that the next herd won’t be able to push through.

By mid-February Hershel deems the kittens old enough for outdoor living, much to the displeasure of the children. They and their mother are moved into the old shed, which Mama can leave night or day through a window up in the rafters. Hershel locks the kittens in at sundown, leaving them food, water, and an enclosed wooden house lined with warm blankets that T-Dog helped construct.

Daryl wakes up that first night to the sound of high pitched meowing. He pushes himself off the couch with a sigh, following the cries to the front door. When he opens it, he finds the runt of the litter, the still unnamed black kitten. It darts inside, rubbing up against his ankles and making a ruckus.

“Alright, alright,” he grumbles, scooping the kitten up as he shuts the door. “Quiet down ya big baby.”

He heads upstairs, the kitten complaining the whole way even as it rubs against his fingers. He ain’t got the faintest clue how the damn thing got out of the shed and made it across the whole length of the yard without gettin’ himself snatched by an owl or a fox, but there’s no doubt who the little rascal came lookin’ for.

He doesn’t bother knocking on the master bedroom door, wrenching it open to reveal Lori and Patricia out cold in bed with Beth and Mouse cuddled up on the cot at its base. The latter girl startles awake as he drops the kitten on her chest, eyes shooting open wide and hands lifting to cradle the now purring flea ball. 

“Your kitten came lookin’ for ya,” Daryl snarks as the other women groggily wake up. “Ain’t takin’ him out to the shed in the dark.”

Come morning, the group winds up discussing the mystery of how the little one managed to survive the long journey, mostly with amusement. Life on the farm is slow, with the occasional burst of activity. An event like this will be prime gossip for a week at least. 

“Mouse has something to share with everyone,” Beth announces, standing up to get their attention. The blushing girl passes Beth her note, returning her primary attention to the heartily purring kitten settled on her shoulder.

“She picked a name for him,” the blonde states with a broad smile. “‘His name is Mischief because all of his naughtiness is of the mildest sort.’”

No one has the heart to separate the pair, and so Mischief becomes a common sight indoor and out. His siblings remain down in the shed with their mother, or wrestling in the tall grasses and hunting crickets. Mama takes to hunting the local rodent population with glee, munching on her kills and showing her two daughters how to make their own. Where Mischief is concerned, it's simply clear the runt is not destined to be any sort of barn cat.

Once the weather warms, Daryl moves back outside, preferring his own tent to the couch indoors. No one else shares his eagerness for space, though the group begins discussing what it will take to build a cottage down between the barn and chicken coop. Glenn suggests they just insulate the barn, but Hershel points out it's a necessity for the cattle in case of harsh winters like the one they’ve just had. With a baby on the way and an already crowded house, the idea of moving some people into a new building is floated. It would be difficult to set up plumbing or electricity, but whoever moves out could always come up to the farmhouse for both.

Daryl doesn’t really give a shit what they decide to do. He’s happy in his tent, happy enough anyways. Hell, with the weather warming, he can get back to finding his brother. He’s done most of his searching around the towns and suburbs surrounding Atlanta since that’s where he and Merle got separated, but the honest truth is he stopped searching ages ago, more concerned with marking down any place with goods that might keep those kids safe just a little longer. 

He’s the farthest South he’s ever been, the sun beating against his tanned arms when a sound he never thought he’d hear again overtakes the roar of the wind. He slows his brother’s motorcycle to a stop, looking skyward to see a helicopter, sweeping low across the horizon with smoke trailing from the engine. 

He watches in disbelief as the damn thing comes closer, dipping down until it flies by, heading straight for the woods across a wide open farmfield. Whoever is at the controls must not have any because the damn thing smashes itself into that forest, smoke rising up past the tree tops. 

“Son of a bitch,” Daryl grunts. He drags his motorcycle off the road, not trusting backroad lanes to lead him where he needs to go. Once his bike is hidden beneath some hastily dragged brush, he takes off, hopping the nearest fence and sprinting through a field left fallow, now overgrown with golden grass.

It takes him near half an hour of jogging to reach the crash site, nestled right up in a clear strip of forest. He doubts a crash landing in an open field would have been much better, even so the pilot was unlucky. A football field west or east, and they’d at least have had a chance for a clean landing. 

The rotors are snapped off, smoke still rising from the busted engine. They’re dressed in military gear, one poor bastard sliced clean in two by the spinning blades. Daryl crouches down to push his knife into the ear of the man who was cut in half. Better to get it done now than wait for him to turn. He’s about to head into the helicopter itself to determine if either of the pair still strapped in their seats is alive, when the rumble of engines hits his ears. With a curse, he ducks out, darting into the trees and crouching low to avoid being seen.

A pair of trucks pull up, one decked out with spotlights up-top and a grill that looks custom made to plow through walkers. A few men hop down from the truck beds, decked out with a variety of weapons, many of them military grade.

A tall fellow with brown hair climbs out of the passenger side of the lead truck, dressed in cargo pants and a black button up. He’s under-armed compared to the rest with only a hunting knife strapped to his belt.

“Fan out,” he commands. The men do as he says, spreading around the clearing to establish a perimeter. 

A walker stumbles into the clearing, and one of the men lifts his pistol to take aim. The leader notices, calling out for him to save his rounds and let one of the others take care of it. As ordered, an archer handles the first walker, and then another man takes out two with a metal baseball bat.

They work as an organized unit to shield the little clearing from any walkers that appear, cautious and well-trained. The leader steps into the helicopter, only to call out for another man.

“Got a breather! Tim, come help me out.” One of the men joins him in the helicopter, while a few others retrieve a stretcher from one of the trucks. They load the injured pilot onto it, carrying him back to the vehicles.

Daryl debates revealing himself, faced with a dilemma he hasn’t encountered before. He ain’t met anyone while out wandering the countryside, and the only people they’ve encountered before were a potentially violent group. Still, these people are helping a total stranger, so they couldn’t be entirely bad. 

A snarl is the only warning Daryl gets. He throws himself to the side as a walker makes a grab for his back. With a curse, he scrambles backwards, panting for breath as he fumbles with his knife. Before he can get the weapon out, a long blade slams through the walker’s head, spearing it from behind. The creature goes limp, sliding off the blade to reveal a smirking one-handed man wearing a bladed prosthetic and gripping a pistol in his remaining left hand.

The smirk slides off his face, leaving them to stare at one another in shocked silence. Before either can find their voice, the leader calls out. 

“Merle? You find something?”

“Holy shit,” Merle lets out a disbelieving chuckle, straightening up and tucking his gun away. Daryl’s brother is even more gray than he remembers, but his blue eyes are clear and aware in a way Daryl hasn’t seen in years.

“All good, Governor,” Merle calls out, offering Daryl his remaining hand to stand up. Daryl accepts, and is promptly pulled into a one-armed hug more fierce than anything Merle has been willing to offer in a decade.

“Let me look at ya,” Merle demands, pushing Daryl back with another disbelieving smile. “God damn. I ain’t dreaming am I?”   
  
“Merle?” One of the other paramilitary men calls, approaching with an assault rifle held at the ready.

“At ease gentlemen,” Merle wraps his arm around Daryl’s shoulders, dragging them both out into the open before he can protest. “Today’s a damn good day to be alive. This here’s my brother.”

The men don’t relax until the Governor waves for them to stand down, abandoning the injured man to come meet them. He examines Daryl, a smile spreading over his lips that never quite reaches his steely blue eyes.

“Daryl, right?” The Governor holds out his hand to shake. Reluctantly, Daryl does so. “Merle’s spoke of you quite a bit, and how skilled you are. He was confident you were alive.”

“Ain’t nothin’ can kill a Dixon but a Dixon,” Merle slaps Daryl’s back with a grin.

The Governor still hasn’t let go of his hand, squeezing just on the side of too hard to be comfortable. Daryl drops his gaze to the ground and shrugs. 

“Just lucky I guess,” he says, keeping his gaze down until the Governor lets go of his hand.

“Ain’t gonna need luck no more,” Merle assures him gleefully. “We’ve got a whole town walled off, you’ll be drinkin’ cold lemonade in a day or so little bro.”

Daryl shrugs, deciding against commenting on how much of a waste that seems. He’s still reeling with the realization that Merle is here, alive, and completely God damn sober.

“Of course he will,” The Governor agrees immediately. “But we should send someone to fetch his people.”

Daryl’s stomach twists, a flicker of worry twitching in his gut. Something about this fella just makes his skin crawl.

“That’s right!” Merle crows, and when Daryl glances at him, there is an eager gleam in his eyes. “Say, whatever happened to that fella, Officer Rick weren’t it? Yeah, him and T-Dog, got a few things I sure would love to say to them.”

“Ain’t gotta clue,” Daryl lies. “Left ‘em. Camp got hit by walkers, said they wanted to head for the CDC. Seemed stupid, figured I’d be better off on my own.”

“Your brother has good intuition,” the Governor smiles coldly. “The CDC’s gone, and near everything half a mile around it. Seems our government saw fit to rig it to explode.”

“Mmhmm,” Daryl nods. “Saw the smoke, day or so after I split.”

“And you’ve been alone all this time?” The Governor prods, his smile as fixed as before.

“That’s my brother,” Merle chuckles. “Don’t need nobody but his self to make it in a world like this.”

“You sound like a man we could make good use of,” the Governor compliments. “Head on back with the wounded pilot, Merle. We’ll meet you there.”

“Still got your bike,” Daryl interjects quickly. When the two look at him with questioning gazes he adds, “How I’ve been gettin’ around on my own.”

“You kept that thing all this damn time?” Merle nearly howls with laughter. “God damn brother, you are the most sentimental bastard I ever knew.”

“I’ll send someone to fetch it for you,” the Governor offers. “Tell me where it is.”

Daryl agrees reluctantly, pointing the direction he walked and describing where he left his brother’s bike. If he weren’t really out alone he’d never give them that, but he figures that’s part of why the Governor is insisting on Merle taking him back and fetching the bike himself, to confirm his story.

Some fella called Crowley takes the wheel, Tim set up in the bed of the truck with the injured pilot from the helicopter while Merle and Daryl climb in the backseats. They pull out of the woods, leaving the Governor and the rest of his men to finish clearing out the helicopter and grab Merle’s bike.

“You’re gonna love it here little brother,” Merle slings his good arm around Daryl’s shoulders, dragging him close. “God damn I missed ya, we’re gonna have a hell of a time catchin’ each other up.”   
  
“Ain’t got nothing to tell,” Daryl shrugs uncomfortably. “Like I said, left ‘em after the camp got hit.”

“Then I guess it’ll be me doin’ all the damn talkin’ just like always. Ain’t that right Crowley?”    
  
The driver concurs, shooting Merle a grin. That’s all it takes to set his brother off, regaling Daryl with tales of how he spent the winter. The more his brother talks, the more relieved Daryl is that he decided not to give up the others. They’ll be alright without him, he ain’t sure they’d be alright if they got found by this Governor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good news everyone! Chapter sixteen is done, and I've made good headway on seventeen. Sixteen should be going up next week, and seventeen the week after. 
> 
> As always I am eager to hear any thoughts you might have! Predictions are welcome, critique as well. Hope you're all doing well, or at least as well as you can be considering the state of the world. Hugs to everyone, take care of yourselves!


	16. When it Rains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Several members of the group are out on a run when Lori's labor starts early.

Edwin wakes to the sound of heavy purring. The pin-prick of claws kneading against his shirt necessitates bringing a hand up to pet the cat’s back. 

“Mischief,” he huffs, giving a sleepy smile when said cat fiercely rubs his face against his fingers.

“Got ‘em.”

Before he can tell Mouse it's alright, the mattress shifts. Mischief’s weight vanishes, followed by a startled trill from the five month old kitten. Even as Mouse moves out into the RV’s main room, he can hear his purrs.

“No, no, I’ll get up,” Edwin groans, climbing off the bed and rolling his neck as he steps into the little kitchenette.

Andrea would normally be sleeping in the living area on the couch’s fold out bed, but she’s been on a supply run for nearly three days with Glenn, T-Dog and Maggie. Daryl would normally be with them, but the man has been missing for almost two weeks. They have no way of finding the hunter who has spent the past six months coming and going as he pleases, so he tries not to worry. It’s because of Daryl they are so well off for food and general necessities, lacking only in the specialized equipment and medicine Hershel hopes Glenn will locate at the veterinary school all the way down in Fort Valley. With the nearest hospital burnt to the ground in the first month of the outbreak and Lori’s birth likely to require a C-Section, they finally decided to expand their runs beyond the close range they’ve kept through the winter.

Edwin enters the main room of the RV to find Mischief perched on the table, tail swishing as he waits for someone to give him food. Mouse is where he thought she would be, heating up hot water in the kettle for a cup of oatmeal. 

“Want some?” She doesn’t look at him while she asks, already opening the cupboard and bringing down another cup. 

“If it’s not too much trouble.”

While Mouse prepares their breakfast, he throws on some actual clothing, a heavy pair of jeans and thick socks despite the warming weather. It’s late April, Beth would know the precise date no doubt. She recorded everyone’s birthdays and has religiously insisted on throwing celebrations for each. Carl’s was nearly a day-long affair spent watching possibly every single comic book film ever made. Mouse is marked down for June, with the special request of, ‘nothing loud’. 

“Not yours, Mischief.” Mouse interrupts Edwin’s thoughts, and he looks up to find her lifting said cat off the kitchen counter. He whines, twining around her ankles as she pours steaming water into their oatmeal filled mugs. 

“No,” Mouse insists, even as she reaches down to pet his face. He rubs his cheeks against her eagerly.

“I’ll take him out,” Edwin offers once he’s finished buttoning up his shirt. “Eat breakfast outside?”

“Mmhmm,” Mouse agrees, so Edwin scoops Mischief up, balancing him on one arm as he ducks out of the RV.

The morning air is brisk, but despite the cloudy day, he finds Patricia and Lori already hard at work on the laundry, a task that never ends. When he isn’t required for heavy lifting, Edwin does his best to help out. Lori waves him over so he changes directions, idly stroking Mischief’s back as the cat purrs. 

“Hey, could you take over for me?” Lori offers him a tired smile when he’s within ear shot. “I didn’t sleep well last night.”

“No problem,” he glances at her heavily pregnant belly, then back to the dark shadows under her eyes. “Just let me get Mischief something to eat.”

“I can handle it,” Lori leverages herself up with a groan. Once she’s upright, she holds out her hands for the cat.

“He’ll follow you,” Edwin chuckles, easing him down to the ground. “Go on Mischief, Lori’s getting your breakfast.”

“Come on, silly,” Lori pats her thigh, and the cat briskly trots after her towards the farmhouse. 

“That baby’s a kicker,” Patricia sighs as Edwin sits down to help out. “Been keeping Lori awake all night near a week now.”

“Well, once they’re born maybe the rest of us can give her a break,” he dips his hands into cold soapy water, scrubbing yet another pair of muddy jeans that can only belong to Carl.

He’s elbow deep in the wash water when Mouse joins them. She grabs the towel for him to dry his hands, then settles in the grass by his feet, eating her oatmeal in silence after passing him his own cup.

“Good morning, Mouse,” Patricia greets her. Mouse waves, then returns to her breakfast.

Edwin eats quickly, passing his cup and spoon to Mouse with a thank you. She takes them without protest, heading up to the house to rinse them off.

Once he and Patricia finish with the laundry, Edwin spends most of the day helping Hershel out with various chores. Mouse tags along after Beth when she isn’t with him or Lori, and Carl is kept close to Shane or Rick depending on what preference he expresses for the day. With so many people off property, it feels uncomfortably quiet. Still, quiet isn’t bad. Edwin will just feel better once all the people he cares about are back behind the farm’s fences. 

They gather around the dining table come evening to eat chicken slathered in a barbecue sauce that Dale and Patricia put together. The attitude is mostly cheerful, save for the sad looks Lori shoots her husband and son who sit at the far end of the table from her.

“He’ll come around,” Beth murmurs, reaching across the table and lightly touching Lori’s hand. 

Mouse shoots Carl a scowl, but she stops when Edwin taps her hand and shakes his head. She ducks her face and blushes, picking at her plate with a sulky glower. 

After the gun incident, the two children never quite reconciled, though they aren’t openly antagonistic. Edwin isn’t sure if Carl is just following his father’s example, or if he’s hurt by how fiercely Lori has taken to mothering Mouse.Either way, the boy is furious, and has barely given his mother a word all winter.

“Not sure if I deserve that,” Lori responds to Beth, using her napkin to dab at her eyes. 

There’s a saying about secrets Edwin can’t quite remember, something about how if three people need to keep one you’ll have to kill two of them to make sure. It seems appropriate given how the knowledge of Lori’s ‘affair’ spread in the wake of the announcement of her pregnancy. From what he’s heard, she thought Rick was dead. How that can be considered an affair is beyond him, but he doesn’t credit Rick or Shane with an overabundance of reason on the best of days.

“Don’t be silly,” Beth shakes her head. “When the baby comes, everyone will set that nonsense aside.”

“I just don’t—” Lori pauses midword, a frown spreading over her face. “Sorry but I think I…” 

She stands up, her cheeks flushing. Edwin looks up to see the dark spread of wetness on her loose sweatpants, and a cold feeling settles in the pit of his stomach. 

“Hershel,” Edwin stands, placing a hand at Lori’s back.

The veterinarian turns from his conversation with Dale. The smile fades from his face, and he pushes out his chair. “Patricia, come with me.”

“What is it?” Rick looks at his wife for the first time in possibly weeks, a note of concern flickering across his face.

“It’s nothing I, I probably just—” Lori sputters, her voice trembling.

“We’ll just check to make sure,” Hershel insists. “Rick, we’ll need your bedroom.”

Edwin walks her as far as the downstairs bedroom, where Patricia and Hershel guide Lori inside. He can’t bring himself to return to dinner, and neither can Mouse. She pops out of the dining room, leaning against his side and shooting fearful glances at the door. 

Edwin tells himself she probably just urinated as a result of the baby putting extra pressure on her bladder; it's almost certainly nothing. Still, he wraps an arm around Mouse, pulling her close and gritting his teeth as his anxiety builds.

Patricia emerges soon after, but she doesn’t pause to speak. She sprints upstairs and returns with a medical kit, vanishing back behind the shut door. Mouse whimpers, and by the time the others have cleared the dining room and joined them, Edwin cannot stop his hands from shaking.

Hershel emerges eventually, his expression grim. Carl makes a wounded noise, clinging to his suddenly pale father. Shane sits on a chair in the back, repeatedly running his fingers through his sweat soaked curls. 

“She entered early labor, but I’ve managed to stop it,” Hershel announces.

“You— You’ve stopped it so, she'll be alright?” Rick demands, passing Carl off to Shane who hugs the shaking boy hard. 

“For now,” Hershel responds. “We’ve given her medication to reduce the likelihood of her labor continuing, but her water has already broken. Every minute we can extend this is good, but there’s no telling when it will start and if we’ll be able to stop it again.”

“Others aren’t due back for days,” Shane points out.

“Can you do the surgery now?” Rick asks urgently. “Could you do the C-Section now?”

“I could try.” Hershel’s voice is enough to tell Edwin how it would likely go. “But there are tools I need that we don’t have.”

“Then we’ll get them.” There’s no doubt in Rick’s voice, a steely determination lighting his eyes. “We’ll head out tonight.”

“It’s been raining all afternoon,” Beth points out worriedly.

“We need the supplies, and I know where we can get them.” Rick looks to Shane. “King County. The hospital I woke up in, they had electricity. I was able to wander out, completely unarmed and unaware. Didn’t encounter a single walker until I was already outside.”

“We picked the veterinary school because it's a straight shot down 341,” Hershel intercedes. “There aren’t any clean routes to King County.”

“Took me less than a day to get from there to Atlanta,” Rick retorts. “If we leave tonight, we can be back tomorrow.”

“I’ll go with them,” Edwin jumps in. “I know what we need. Surgery wasn’t my speciality, but I did go through medical school.”

Mouse whines into his side, but he can’t reassure her he’ll stay. He tries to imagine this farm without Lori on it, and he just can’t. She’s been a good friend to him when no one else was. If he can do anything to save her, he will.

“I’ll go with you—” Carl starts, but Shane cuts the boy off. 

“No, you need to stay here and look out for your mom, okay?” He pats the boy’s shoulder, giving him a fierce stare. “You promise me. You promise me you’ll take care of her.”

“Okay,” Carl whimpers, wiping at his eyes. “I— I promise.”

“I can come with,” Jimmy speaks up. “Y'all been showing me how to use a gun all winter, and you need back up.”

No one likes it, but there isn’t any time to argue. Lori’s labor could return at any moment, and they can’t wait for the others to return. Rick, Shane and Jimmy start packing the big white truck, while Hershel writes down everything he needs. 

Edwin steps into the downstairs room, determined to visit Lori before he leaves. She’s spread out naked under thin sheets, her face pale and hair limp with sweat. 

“Hey,” she murmurs, blinking at him sluggishly.

“Hey there,” he greets, kneeling down beside her.

“I’m okay,” she hums, closing her eyes and letting out a tired sigh. “I’m okay. My baby’s gonna be alright…”

“They will,” Edwin promises shakily. He opens his mouth to tell her he’ll make sure of it, but cuts himself off. Lori can’t be stressed, Hershel made the call that they won’t tell her what they’re all planning to do. They’ll be back before she ever realizes they’re gone.

“You’ll— Promise me that you’ll, if anything happens…” Lori blinks herself awake, giving him a trembling smile as she asks something Edwin can’t make himself offer. “My baby… Save my baby.”

“It won’t be necessary,” he insists, grabbing her hand. “We won’t let it be. I promise.”

She’s half asleep when he steps back out, eyes damp and hands shaking. He accepts the gun that Shane passes him, along with the backpack of supplies and a machete for the dead. 

It’s hammering rain as they step out onto the porch. He pauses to hug Mouse, down on his knees and holding onto her as hard as he can. Shane is doing the same with Carl, while Rick lingers inside to see Lori. By the time Rick emerges both children have broken down into tears. Rick crouches to hug Carl, and the boy clings to his father with as much desperation as Mouse clings to Edwin.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Edwin whispers in her Mouse’s, running his hand down her back. “Look after Mischief for me, okay?”

Mouse nods, sniffling and hiccuping. When he draws back, she lets out a cry, trying to follow after him. Beth grabs her shoulder, pulling her into a tight hug as Edwin reluctantly marches down the porch steps.

He piles into the back seat with Jimmy, Shane behind the wheel while Rick takes shotgun. They’re silent as they drive away from the farm, the pounding of the rain on the windshield and the squelch of the wheels over mud the only sounds.

“Thank you both,” Rick tells them after Jimmy hops out to open the main gate, closing it once the truck has pulled forward and getting back in soaked. “You didn’t have to come along, but you did. Thank you.”

“I’m not doing it for you,” Edwin states bluntly. “And you couldn’t have stopped me if you wanted to.”

No one speaks after that, Shane just flips on the headlights as they drive into the thickening darkness.

* * *

The next time Lori opens her eyes, it's dark, with only an oil lamp lighting the room. She hears the rustle of pages along with Patricia’s quiet snores. There’s a warmth against her side, and when she shifts her hand, she encounters soft fur.

“Mischief,” she murmurs, smiling when that whiskered nose bumps into her hand. “Hey there.”

“Mom?”

She turns her head and sees Carl, blinking sleepily as he sits up in a chair. He looks at her with those big blue eyes, just like hers and Rick’s.

When he sees she’s awake, he gets up from the chair, rushing over to her side. “Hey baby,” she murmurs, smiling when he sits down beside her on the bed. 

The rustling of pages stops, and Mouse appears at the end of the bed. She pops up, glancing between Lori and Carl with worry shining in her eyes. She sets the book onto the ground, pushing herself to her feet and hovering nervously.

“How are you feeling?” Carl reaches for something on the bedside table, returning with a damp cloth he carefully brushes over Lori’s forehead.

“I’m okay,” she insists, ignoring the deep aches that run all along her limbs and into her core. “I’m okay, baby.”

“Can I get you anything?” Carl demands. Lori swallows, unwilling to ask for anything when this is the first time in months Carl has wanted to so much as speak to her.

A flicker of movement draws her gaze, Mouse pointing to herself urgently. Lori doesn’t follow, but Carl does.

“Mouse can get it,” he grabs for her hand, squeezing it with his smaller one. “Just, please Mom.”

“Some water,” Lori croaks after a minute, giving Mouse a grateful smile. She vanishes out the door, letting it shut behind her.

Carl doesn’t say anything else, just sitting there and holding her hand. There’s rain pounding on the window, wind whistling outside with the rush of a bad storm.

“How long did I sleep?” Lori asks, brushing her thumb across her son’s hand. He has new calluses whose development she missed over the past months. He’s only thirteen, but he wants to grow up so fast. 

“Um,” Carl shifts, squinting at the far wall which isn’t well lit by the sole lamp. “It’s almost midnight.”

“Wow, I was out for a while,” Lori chuckles tiredly. 

“It’s okay,” Carl assures her immediately. “I’m just glad you’re getting some rest.”

Mischief perks up beside her, standing abruptly when Mouse comes inside. Before the girl can close the door, he jumps off the bed, darting into the main house.

Mouse ignores the cat, rushing to Lori’s side with a cup held in one hand. Lori accepts it with murmured thanks. As she sips, the wind rattles the window, and the front door thumps in its frame.

Patricia sits up from the cot she was sleeping in, rubbing at sleep red eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Lori chuckles, passing the cup back to Mouse. “Hershel knows what he’s doing.”

“True enough,” Patricia offers her a worn smile, stepping over and taking her free wrist in hand. She presses her thumb down to take Lori’s pulse. Apparently satisfied by what she fines she puts Lori’s arm back down and stretches, popping her back with a groan.

“I’m gonna go check in with Dale.” She pats the bed. “You need anything you just ask, alright?”

“He’s on watch,” Carl explains as Patricia steps out “Upstairs on the balcony.”

“Stormy outside,” Lori nods as her eyelids flutter. “Hopefully it clears up by morning.”

Carl stays clutching her hand as she starts to drift off, the soft sounds of Mouse turning pages soothing her back to sleep. She’s nearly gone when the door thumps open.

“Carl, take Mouse to the back door.” Hershel’s sharp tone brings Lori back to consciousness. “Beth is waiting for you.”   
  
“What is it?” Carl demands, his grip on Lori’s hand tightening.   
  
“Hopefully nothing,” Hershel responds. “I’ll bring your mother, I promise, but you need to go now.”

“Carl,” Lori murmurs. “Do as—”

“No,” her son snaps, glaring at Hershel. “I promised I’d look after Mom, so that’s what I’m gonna do.”

Before Lori can ask who he promised, Hershel turns to Mouse. “Go to Beth now, we’ll be along.”

Mouse does as she’s told, shooting Lori a worried glance as she snatches up her book and ducks out of the room. Hershel steps up to the bed, ordering Carl to turn away and give Lori a bit of privacy. Her son at least listens this time, allowing Hershel to pull the sheets back and help her slip into a robe to cover her nudity. 

“Carl, put your shoes on and fetch a pair for your mother,” Hershel orders as he helps Lori stand up from the bed. She does so slowly, leaning her weight onto the older man’s shoulder and struggling to stay upright. 

“Okay,” Carl agrees, his voice rising with anxiety he tries to conceal. He returns a heartbeat later, feet still bare but Lori’s shoes in hand.

“Hershel, what’s happening?” Lori demands as Carl helps her slip her shoes on. “Please just tell me.”

“It could be nothing,” the man repeats, but at the fearful look on Lori’s face he explains, “but it's possible there’s a tornado on the ground nearby. Dale has seen lightning, and the winds are harsh. We’re just trying to be cautious.”

“Carl,” Lori looks to her son, hardening her expression. “Go put your shoes on, right now.”

Her son darts for the front door as Hershel helps her hobble out into the entryway. Carl is hopping into his shoes as Dale comes down the staircase, a box of supplies in his arms. 

“Take those downstairs,” Hershel orders him. “Mouse and Beth are in the basement, the entrance is just outside through the backdoor in the kitchen—”

All the hair’s on Lori’s arms stand up. The breath flees her lungs, a fear so primal she can’t articulate it stealing her voice. Carl looks up at her, terror in his eyes, and she knows something is wrong.    
  
“Go!” Hershel shouts, passing Lori to her son.

“The basement—” Dale starts to say.

“There isn’t time!” Hershel shouts. “The downstairs bathroom, now!”

Dale abandons his box, helping Carl guide Lori to the half-bathroom. They crouch against the back wall where the toilet is, huddled together and shaking. “Hershel!” Lori screams as the howling wind picks up. “Hershel!”

The older man appears in the doorway, lit by the faint lamplight in the hall. He drags the door shut behind him, tossing them towels from the cupboard. “Cover yourselves!” He orders. “Stay down on the ground, hold onto each other and—”

His words are lost as a horrific roaring sound spills under the doorway. Carl screams, and Lori holds onto her son with all her strength. She doesn’t know where the others are, Rick, Shane, Edwin. Tears drip down her cheeks, and she sobs into her son’s hair as the sound of wood creaking and the buzz of wind tearing it apart becomes her entire world. 

She doesn’t know how much time has passed. It’s pitch black, there’s rain pouring down on her head. It can’t have been longer than a minute, but it feels like hours. Hiccuping and gasping she feels around herself, encountering Dale’s age worn hand which grips her back.    
  
“Hershel?” Lori gasps through her tears, rocking her sobbing son in her arms. “Hershel?”

“I’m here,” the old man answers, his voice trembling. “Is everyone alright?”

“I’m not hurt,” Dale responds, shifting around them carefully. “Do we have any light?”

A flashlight illuminates the bathroom, revealing a cracked ceiling and rain pouring through from above.

“I need your help,” Hershel commands. “Lori, Carl, stay where you are. We’ll come get you when it's safe.”

The older men force the bathroom door back open, it's blocked by something Lori cannot see. All she can do is cling to her son and sob, praying that she hasn’t lost more of her shrinking family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Tornado that hits the Greene farm is based on a [real one](https://www.weather.gov/ffc/2011_tornadoes_5_year_anniv) that tracked across Meriwether, Spalding, and Henry Counties on Thursday April 28th 2011, from 12:03AM until 12:28AM. It was an EF3, and in the real world it killed several people due to the lack of warning and inability to see it coming.
> 
> If you are wondering, this does mean that the current date in my story is April 28th, 2011. I may not stay strictly true to the shows timeline going forward, and I'm not sure how accurate I am to it currently, but the group met Jenner in very late September, and thus the story has now covered a little over six months. 
> 
> I'd like to thank [DarkTidings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkTidings/pseuds/DarkTidings) for inspiring the use of a tornado due to their extensive research that they often discuss in their own works. Without them I don't know if I ever would have thought of it.


	17. You Can Never Be Ready

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hershel determines the farm is no longer safe, and decides to send Lori, Dale and the children to the prison.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings that spoil chapter content at the bottom of the chapter.

Lori sits in the dark for what feels like hours, telling her son it will be alright even if the words feel empty in her mouth. Dale finally comes to retrieve them, using a flashlight to guide them through the ruins of the Greene’s home.

“We aren’t sure how stable the house is,” Dale explains as they make for the entryway. Glass crunches beneath their shoes, rain pelting their faces as they step through the empty frame of the front door. “But the RV is intact. The tornado must have just missed it.”

“At least that’s something,” Lori mutters, petting her son’s damp hair. They cross the front yard to where the RV stands, and Dale holds the door open so they can enter. 

Lori barely makes it inside when a small figure leaps up. Mouse hugs her, only letting go when Carl climbs in. 

“Oh thank goodness,” Beth stands up from the little dining table, towels held in her arms. “Here, dry off.”

Dale shuts the door from the outside, leaving Lori with the three youngest members of the group. “Thank God you’re both alright,” Lori accepts a towel, but there’s only so much that can be done with no dry clothes to change into. She is still glad to soak the worst of the water from her hair.    
  
“We have blankets,” Beth hurries into the bedroom, emerging with a comforter. “If we all sit on the couch, we can at least keep warm.”

They do as Beth suggested, squeezing tightly together in the small space. With the comforter, their shivers slowly subside, leaving them damp and shaken but alive. 

“Beth,” Lori begins once her son and Mouse calm down. “Have you seen Rick or Edwin?”

The teenager’s eyes dart to Carl. It’s her son who finally responds, sitting up and fiddling with the edge of the blanket. “Dad went to get you supplies.” He won’t meet her eyes as he adds, “Shane, Jenner and Jimmy went with him.”

Lori’s stomach drops, a mix of relief that they were off the farm when the tornado hit and betrayal at them not informing her lurching in her gut. “But Glenn and the others were bringing back…”

“Daddy was worried they wouldn’t make it in time for the baby,” Beth explains. “So, Rick said he’d go in the night, bring everything back today.”

Lori slumps against the couch, exhaustion wearing at her very bones. Her stupid, reckless husband. He never should have gone, not him, nor Edwin. Rick has to be there for their son if the worst should happen, haring off to bring supplies others are already fetching is the last thing she wanted.

“Don’t worry about Dad, Mom,” Carl takes her hand and squeezes firmly. “He’ll come back. He always does.”

She forces herself to smile, leaning over to kiss his damp hair. “I’m sure you’re right, baby.”

They rest like that for some time, speaking occasionally or drifting into uneasy sleep only to be shaken awake by a fresh clap of thunder. The first trickles of dawn light the windows when Dale enters the RV, bringing fresh clothing that must have been shielded from the worst of the destruction.

They take turns changing in the bedroom while Dale cooks them all a hot breakfast of the plain oatmeal Jenner keeps in the RV for Mouse, along with cups of tea. With dry clothing and warm food in her stomach, Lori feels strong enough to stand. She hovers by the door, tempted to step outside and ask for news, but rain still falls steadily from the sky. The thunder storm has passed on, and with it the pitch black clouds that roiled threateningly overhead. Still, the sky is grey and dreary, the chill of the spring storm seeping into her fingers. 

“I’m gonna go find out what’s happening.” Beth says. Just as she reaches for the door, it opens, revealing Hershel’s weary face. 

“Daddy!” Beth waits only for her father to step up into the shelter of the RV before hugging him. He returns his daughter’s embrace, hiding bloodshot eyes in her wheat blond hair before reluctantly stepping away. 

“How is it?” Lori asks, gesturing for Hershel to sit and pouring him a cup of tea.

Hershel glances at the children. “The fences are down. It must have made landfall a little north and to the east of us. It tore a path through the woods before reaching our land, and the house took a direct hit.”

Beth sat down beside Mouse for the news, and they hug one another for comfort. Beth sniffles, whispering that they’ll be alright.

Lori passes Hershel the cup, sinking down at the table across from him. “Then we’ll all stay in the RV until the others come back or... how are the stables?”

“The stables wouldn’t be warm enough,” Hershel shakes his head, eyeing his tea before finally breaking the real news.

“Patricia is in bad shape.” He looks between Lori and Beth, both of whom react with widening eyes and twin gasps of denial. “We found her twenty-yards out from the house. She must have been upstairs when it hit and been thrown free.”

“How bad is it, Daddy?” At the worried look on her father’s face, Beth raises her chin, giving him a determined look. “I want to know.” She glances to Lori and adds, “We all do.”

“I can’t be certain,” Hershel couches his words. “But she hasn’t regained consciousness, and it’s likely that there is some level of brain damage. How bad it is, or if it's recoverable, I won’t be able to evaluate until she wakes up. For now, Dale helped me put up a tarp to keep her dry, and we moved one of the smaller generators over with a space heater to try and keep her warm.”

“Why can’t we bring her to the RV?” Carl demands. “We could keep her warm in here!”

Hershel shakes his head. “I can’t afford to move her until I know the extent of the trauma. Even if the injury to her head isn’t lethal, moving her with a spinal injury could kill her. All we can do right now is wait.”

The grim news is followed with silence. In a single night, their home is gone, ripped apart not by walkers or even people, but a random act of natural destruction. 

“Without the fences, we’re completely vulnerable,” Lori breaks the silence. “ We can drive the RV over to where Patricia is. If a herd comes, we can move her inside and run.”

Hershel shakes his head again, frowning at his age-worn hands. “And what about when the others make it back only to find us gone?”

“We leave a note,” Lori suggests. “We can tell them where we’re headed.”

“And if men like the ones I encountered in town found it?” 

“Then what do you think we should do?” Lori asks.

Hershel sighs deeply, glancing at his daughter with a pained expression. After a long moment, he answers.

“We should get the most vulnerable off the farm,” he says. “There’s a prison close to Newnan, Glenn and the others cleared the whole front yard months ago. There are sturdy fences, and it's enclosed. Dale can take you and the children there in the RV.”

“You’d stay here alone?” Lori asks in disbelief.

“Daddy, no!” Beth interjects. “I can stay with you and wait—”

“Bethy, you can’t help me,” Hershel shuts her down. “But you can help Lori. I’ll send along the medications she’ll need to keep her labor from starting, and I’ll join you as soon as possible.”

“What?” The startled look on Beth’s face could hardly be considered reassuring. “Daddy, you can’t be serious.”

“You’ve been helping me treat the cattle all winter, you can handle this.” Hershel insists. “And I need you to be safe, for my own peace of mind.”

“Why doesn’t Dale stay—”

“Because he can’t treat Patricia,” Hershel’s voice rises, cutting off all protest. “Beth, if Lori’s labor starts, it will be hours before she or the baby are in danger. In an emergency, you could all drive back to the farm itself, but right now we need to focus on the immediate threat.”

Beth falls silent, her eyes shining with tears. She nods reluctantly, wiping at her face. 

“When should we leave?” Lori asks, her mind made up. She doesn’t like the idea of being away from Hershel or leaving the old man alone, but he’s right. If her labor does start back up, they can return to the farm, but getting the children behind fences needs to be the priority. 

“I need to get back to Patricia,” Hershel stands up. “Dale is going to retrieve what he can safely from the house, then you should head off.”

“I’ll help Dale,” Beth gets up, and when Hershel frowns, she shakes her head. “We need to get going, and it’ll be faster with two of us.”   
  
“Three,” Carl stands as well. When Lori opens her mouth to protest, he hardens his expression. “We need to get you somewhere safe, Mom. I’m going to help them.”

“Just be careful,” Lori agrees with a trembling smile. She reaches out to her son’s face and cups his cheek. “You’ve grown up so much, haven’t you?”

“It’s my job to look after you,” the fierce tone of Carl’s voice contrasts how he leans into his mother’s touch. “So that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“Thought that was my job?” Lori chuckles, kissing his forehead.    
  
“You can do that once you’ve had the baby,” Beth nods to Carl. “Let’s go. Mouse, look after Lori.”

Mouse nods, and they cuddle together as the others file out, Lori sipping hot tea to settle her nerves as Mouse pulls out a large book. She curls into Lori’s side, squinting down at the letters that the murky light just barely illuminates.

“What are you reading?” Lori sets her tea to the side and wraps her free arm around Mouse’s shoulders. 

She holds the book up, tilting it so Lori can see the cover. It’s an obstetrics textbook, the chapter Mouse has open detailing how to perform C-Sections, complete with diagrams.

“Ah,” Lori looks away, fighting a wave of queasiness. “Mouse sweetie, I don’t think you’ll have to worry about all that.”

Mouse shrugs, nestling into Lori’s side as she goes back to reading. Lori decides to leave it be, focusing her attention on the RV’s window so she can track Carl, Beth and Dale as they make their way into the remnants of the farmhouse’s first floor.

It’s midmorning by the time they finish packing, taking enough food and water to last them a week. Their extra ammo was stored in the basement thankfully, and they managed to dig out some guns from the rubble. A rifle, a shotgun, Lori’s little revolver, and a 9mm pistol. They leave Hershel the shotgun, and Dale takes the rifle, while Lori holsters the familiar revolver with a mix of nostalgia and revulsion. She doesn’t enjoy shooting, but she grew up with guns as a way of life. She knows how to handle them.    
  
They arm Mouse and Beth with knives, while her son receives the pistol. Of the children, he’s the best shot. Lori won’t say she’s happy about it, but she understands the need. He’s been carrying all winter regardless, whenever he’d walk the fences with Rick or Shane. She wishes he could have a longer childhood, but that chance is already gone.

Beth and Hershel hug for a long time as Dale and Carl load the last items into the RV. Lori watches them from a distance, giving them privacy to exchange whatever words they wish. The teen is the last to enter the RV, wiping tears from her cheeks as the door shuts behind her.    
  
“It’ll only be for a few days,” Dale assures her with a gentle look.

“I know,” Beth nods, squaring her shoulders just in time for Mouse to crash into her side. “Oh Mouse,” she hugs the girl and gives a wet laugh. “I’m alright, promise.”

As the RV pulls down the Greene’s front driveway, the children usher Lori into the bedroom. She feels much better than last night, but the worry in her son's eyes makes her acquiesce. Carl settles on the bed beside her, leaning against the pillows with a salvaged comic in hand.

“Haven’t you read that one before?” Lori murmurs, leaning her cheek against his side. Mouse is in the living area with Beth, the pair trying to get some sleep on the pull-out couch. 

“Mhm,” Carl shifts the thick comic so Lori can see the title. 

“Watchmen,” Lori hums. “Didn’t you name Rory after a character in that?”   
  
“Rorschach,” Carl corrects with a huff. “Yeah.” He hesitates, then asks, “Do you think she’s okay?”   
  
“Animals are smart,” Lori is quick to assure her son. “And the shed was intact, remember? They’re all nearly adults now; they can get in and out as they please.”

“You’re right.” Carl lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sure they’re okay.”

“Read it to me?” Lori has never liked comics, but she wants so badly to reconnect with Carl after months of being ignored.   
  
Carl straightens eagerly. “You have to look at the pictures that go along with it, too.”

“Well then,” Lori pushes herself up with a groan, adjusting the pillows so she can lean her aching back on them comfortably. “Let’s start at the beginning.”

They read for some time, Carl speaking the dialogue aloud as Lori follows along. She didn’t enjoy the violence of the film version they watched at Christmas, but it isn’t so visceral in the comic. The story unfolds with a bad man murdered, and a troubled one trying to solve the crime. It isn’t really to her taste, but the delight in Carl’s face is enough to keep her invested.

Eventually her energy flags, and she drifts off as Carl reads on. She’s half asleep when a sound like a shotgun goes off, and the RV comes to an abrupt halt.    
  
“What was it?!” Carl scrambles off the bed, his voice shrill.

“A flat, I think,” Dale calls from the front. “It’s alright, I can drive on three for a bit. I’ll pull off into a neighborhood so we can change it.”

“I can help,” Beth offers quickly. “Daddy’s had me change tractor tires before.”

Lori slumps onto the bed, resting a hand over her chest as her pulse eases back down. “Fun way to wake up,” she murmurs, reaching over to pat Carl’s leg.

“I can cover them,” Carl starts to get off the bed, but Lori tightens her grip.

“Stay with me, please?” She gives him a shaky smile. “I’m sure they’ll ask if they need help.”   
  
Carl bites his lip, then nods reluctantly. He sits down, too jittery to read more of the comic as Dale pulls off the road into a little neighborhood that seems untouched by the madness of the world. If it weren’t for the unkempt lawns and the thick coating of leaves across the roadway, it would seem as though nothing happened at all. 

“Okay, this looks good.” Dale stops in an open area where clear lines of sight will prevent walkers from sneaking up on them. “The spare is on the back, let's get this done.”

“Wait,” Lori waves Beth over before the girl can leave. “Take my gun.”   
  
“Thanks,” Beth accepts it with a nod, strapping the holster onto her thigh. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

While the others leave the RV, Mouse joins them in the bedroom, passing a note to Carl as she climbs up on the bed.

“I didn’t see him,” Carl responds to whatever is on the note. “But that’s good. Cat’s are really smart. He was probably just hiding, and Hershel will look out for him.”

Mouse appears reassured by this, because she settles down next to Lori. The only sounds are the creaking of Dale and Beth removing the bad tire so they can put on the spare.

“Well, lookit here!”

An unfamiliar voice rings out, audible even inside the RV. Lori sits up, her heart in her throat. When Carl moves to climb off the bed, she grabs his arm, shaking her head urgently.

“Hello there.” The discomfort in Dale’s voice is plain. “How are you all doing?”

“Could certainly be worse,” the stranger answers. “Though the two of you aren’t doing so poorly yourselves.”

Lori leverages herself up off the bed, trying to stay low. 

“Mom,” Carl hisses.

Mouse whimpers, and Lori shakes her head. “We let Dale handle it,” she whispers. She gestures to Mouse and adds, “Get inside the bathroom, and keep Mouse safe.”

She can see the conflict in her son's eyes. “Carl, we won’t all fit in there.” That isn’t the case, but Carl won’t know she’s lying. “Get Mouse inside, and have your gun at the ready.”

At last, her son does as she asks, crawling over the bed and drawing Mouse with him. With the two children in the bathroom, Lori makes her way to the front, crawling along the floor to stay beneath the view of the windows. 

“This old thing?” She hears Dale laugh nervously. “Well, she’s hard to keep running, but I’m the sentimental type. Where are you all headed?”

Lori crouches near the door, getting ready to wrench it open and let her two companions in. She isn’t sure if the tire is fully attached, but they may have to attempt it.

“Nowhere in particular,” the stranger responds. “Tony, get that tire on. Make yourselves useful fellas.”   
  
“Oh that isn’t necessary,” Dale hurries to say. “We can handle it.”

“Won’t take but a moment, and nowadays we got nothing but time.”

He must allow the strangers to take over. Lori closes her eyes, breathing slowly and trying to count the footsteps around the RV. 

“Mighty kind of you all,” the nervous tinge to Dale’s voice has yet to fade. “Don’t have much I could repay it with.”

“That won’t be necessary,” the man who must be the leader responds. “The name’s Joe.”

“Well, I’m Dale, and this is Beth.” 

“It’s good to meet you,” Joe pauses for a heartbeat before adding, “Actually, could be you might have some information we’re after.”   
  
“If I can answer, I’d be happy to.”   
  
“We’re looking for a woman.”

Lori tenses, dread pooling beneath her stomach. She grits her teeth, squeezing the door handle as Joe continues. 

“She’s an African American lady with dreads. Ya see, we were mindin’ our own business when we stumbled over her hideout. Had a pair of walkers all chained up, arms cut off, missing their jaws.”   
  
“Some fucked up shit,” a new fellow jumps in.

“That it was,” Joe agrees. “Anyhow, before we can meet the eccentric individual whose home we stumbled upon, this woman jumps out of a closet, stabs our compatriot Lou through the back with a, believe it or not, with a katana of all things.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dale’s sounds genuinely regretful. “But we haven’t seen anyone by that description.”   
  
“Well, that’s unfortunate.” Joe sighs. “Looks like we’ve lost her trail. Ah well.”

Beth screams, and a gunshot roars just outside the RV. Dale lets out a cry of pain as the sounds of laughter and struggling ensue. Lori covers her mouth, horror swelling in her chest. 

“Claimed!” Someone shouts, followed by Beth’s shrill cries, while Dale shouts for them to leave her alone. 

For a moment, she considers running for the driver’s seat, but she’s halted by Beth’s cries. Whispering a prayer to a God she isn’t sure she believes in anymore, she rips the door open.

“Wait!” She holds her hands up in the air and well away from her sides. “It’s Joe, isn’t it? Wait.”

The scene that is unveiled comes from Lori’s worst nightmares. Six heavily armed men stand roughly in a circle, two holding Dale down while a single man has an arm wrapped around Beth’s neck. His free hand rests on her waist, squeezing with a possessiveness that makes Lori sick. 

The leader of the group is gray-haired and wearing a black leather jacket with skull and rose motifs. He turns to her, raising his eyebrows as he glances up and down. His lips twitch into a smile, and he waves for the men pointing guns at her to lower their weapons.

“Now, who might you be?” He waves her forward, and she exits the RV, shutting the door behind her. She stays right in front of it, refusing to move or let anyone pass.

“My name is Lori Grimes,” she introduces herself. “And I, I understand. You need supplies, we all do in order to survive. You can let Beth and Dale go. If you have me, my husband will give you anything.”

“So y’all are part of some sort of group I take it?” Joe nods thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting proposal.”   
  
“Whatever you could take from us now,” Lori rushes to add. “You could get far more if you just let them leave. They’ll tell my husband how it is, and he’ll give you whatever you want in trade.”

“Well now, Mrs. Grimes,” Joe strolls over, smiling widely. “You seem to be a lady of some value. Not many can say they have a husband these days,” he waves to her stomach. “And even a baby on the way.”

“Exactly,” Lori tries to stay calm, but every step he takes closer leaves her shaking. “So you can just let them go, and you’ll get far more.”

Joe nods, reaching out to brush a finger over her cheek. When she flinches, he smirks, glancing over his shoulder at the surrounding men.

“Well,” he turns back to her with that genial grin. “Well now, I’d say that’s a pretty fair deal. Thing is, I don’t really want whatever your husband has.” He leans close as he adds, “But I know I want you.”

Before she can move Joe drags her forward, wrapping an arm tight around her shoulders. “This one’s claimed fellas.” He forces her away from the RV, ignoring her struggles as he wraps his arms around her from behind.

Beth lets out another cry as the man holding her runs his hand up her stomach. Before he can continue, Joe orders his men to bring Beth and Dale over. Lori is forced down to her knees beside the other two, and they find themselves with weapons aimed from every direction. 

Joe crouches down, giving them each a stern glance. “When we step in that RV, we won’t find any surprises will we?”

“No!” Lori whimpers. “No, it’s just us, please.”

“There isn’t anyone else!” Dale agrees. 

Beth is sobbing too hard to speak, hunched in on herself and shaking. Joe shakes his head at her before turning his attention back to the adults.

“Now I’ll give you this the one time because y’all don’t know the rules yet, but I truly do despise liars.” Joe narrows his eyes and asks, “Is there anyone else in that RV?”

“It’s just us, alright?” Dale insists. “I can show you!”

“No need,” Joe gets to his feet, waving the men forward.

Lori watches in terror as two men enter, both armed with guns. At first there’s nothing but the sounds of them rifling through their belongings, exclaiming over the food and medicine they have packed into boxes on the dining table. Lori digs her fingers into her sweat pants as Beth continues to sob.

“Fucking knew it!” One of the men in the RV shouts. There’s a high pitched shriek, then the retort of a gun. Lori lurches up, but another of the group forces her back down.   
  
“Fuck! Fucking brat shot me!” One of the men emerges, a larger fellow with thinning hair. He’s been shot in the shoulder, and has Carl by the arm, dragging her son out of the RV and throwing him on the ground. Before Carl can get up, the man slams his foot into the middle of her son’s back.

“Get off me!” Carl screams, struggling desperately. His gaze lands on the three of them, and his eyes widen further. “Mom!”

More screaming comes from the RV. Lori whimpers as the other man drags Mouse out, carrying her under one arm. She kicks and thrashes, tears dripping down her cheeks as she’s thrown onto the dirt.

“Well now, that’s a real shame.” Joe stands up and gestures to two of the men. “Teach him, fellas.”   
  
A man wearing a bandanna and a younger fellow with curly brown hair pull Dale out of the line up. The younger man holds Dale from behind while the other slams his fist into Dale’s stomach. Lori screams as the beating continues, nearly standing up before Joe’s fingers twist into her hair. She’s dragged against his chest, forced to watch as the two men kick and punch Dale, never allowing him a moment to defend himself.

“See, that’s what happens to liars,” Joe points out calmly. “I’m willing to forgive you, seeing as you didn’t spout some bullshit about there being no one in the RV after I laid out the rules, but if you had, well,” he squeezes her hip. “Let’s just say that would have been a great disappointment for the both of us.”   
  
As awful as the sight of them beating Dale is, Lori’s eyes are drawn back to the children. The one holding Mouse has pulled her upright, but the girl is limp in his arms, glassy eyed and unresponsive. The big man Carl shot has drawn a knife, getting down on his knees over her son and pressing the blade up against his face.   
  
“No!” Lori fights Joe’s grip with all she has. “No please! Don’t touch him! Don’t touch my boy!”

Carl screams as the man shoves a hand beneath him, and the bastard laughs at her son's terrified cries. 

“Don’t worry ma’am, we won’t kill you right away,” Joe shakes her, bringing his face close to her ear. “First, we’ll pass the girls around, then the boy. I think I’ll take my time with you, ain’t often you find a real lady these days—”

She snaps her head back, the crunch of cartilage a satisfying sound. Joe reels away, releasing her to clutch at his face. The lack of support sends Lori collapsing to hands and knees, panting as she struggles to stand.

“I can handle it!” Joe waves away the man who moves for Lori. He returns to her sneering, dragging her up and pulling her close. 

“I’m gonna make it so much worse,” he hisses, blood pouring from his broken nose. “Was gonna be kind enough to put an end to it all once we were done, now I’m thinking we kill the kids and let them turn, maybe your boy can get a nice snack—”

A snarling noise interrupts Joe’s words, followed by the man holding Beth collapsing. A massive dog has him by the leg, and it shakes its head back and forth. The sound of bone snapping is background to the man’s shrieks, and the perfect cover for a katana emerging from the chest of the man keeping Mouse captive.

Joe looks away from Lori, his expression one of shock. She moves her hand down to the man’s waist, her fingers closing around the gun holstered at his hip. She flicks the safety off, presses it against his side and pulls the trigger. 

Joe’s arms tighten around her, but Lori pulls the trigger again. He tries to push her away, but she grabs onto him, jerking the gun up and pushing it under his chin. He gives her a look of shock before the bullet shoots into his brain, exploding out the back of his skull. Blood sprays over her body, spurting out of the gaping wound.

As he falls, Lori turns, taking aim for each of the men as they enter her view. She nearly empties the pistol at the men standing over Dale, but both collapse with a bullet to the brain after several shots. 

“Let the boy go,” the woman who saved them demands, her voice cold as she aims her katana at the last of those still standing. It’s the big fellow by her son, gripping him now like a safety blanket with a knife aimed at them threateningly.   
  
“Stay back!” The man squeals. “I’ll kill him!”    
  
Lori shoots him in the leg. He shrieks, dropping Carl and the knife to clutch at his blown out knee. Carl scrambles away, and Beth grabs for him, cradling Lori’s trembling son in her arms.    
  
She walks up to the whimpering man, plucking up the knife he dropped. She steps over, and bends close as she rams it into his throat. He looks up at her in disbelief, choking on his own blood as she draws the blade back. She tosses it to the ground, leaving him to bleed out. 

The woman with the katana moves to the man her gray dog is still savaging, neatly putting the blade through his eye. The enormous creature abandons its prey, pacing away from the group with ears pricked up. 

“Mouse,” Beth cries, holding out an arm towards the girl. The gesture must break through whatever holds Mouse paralyzed, and she crawls over to Beth and Carl without a word, cowering into their arms.

Lori moves to Dale, her hands still shaking from adrenaline. “We need to get moving.” She grabs his shoulder and rolls him onto his back. 

One of Dale’s eyes is crushed, the left side of his face a deep purple with blood gushing out. He barely responds to being moved, gurgling and twitching.

“We need to go,” the woman with the katana states firmly. Lori looks where she’s gesturing, spotting a trio of walkers as they stagger around a house.   
  
“We can handle that, can’t we?” Lori demands, crouching to see if she can lift Dale. 

“More will come,” the woman points out.

“I'll get the RV going.” Beth abandons the children, ducking inside their ransacked vehicle. 

The katana wielding woman joins Lori, and they lift Dale between them. They leverage him into the RV, laying him out on the bed in the back.

“Mom?”

“I’m in here,” Lori turns to her son, who has entered the RV with Mouse pressed against his side. His stares at her, eyes wide and fearful. “Oh, baby—”

“The RV won’t start!” Beth emerges from the front, and her gaze falls onto Lori. Her hands rise to her mouth in shock. 

“You need to sit down,” the black woman grabs Lori’s shoulder, guiding her towards the couch. 

It isn’t until Lori sits that a wave of dizziness hits her. She looks down and sees red all over her shirt.

“No, it’s just…” She sways, blinking at her son as Beth and the stranger begin rushing around the RV. It’s just Joe’s blood, isn’t it? They return moments later, ripping Lori’s shirt open to reveal a bullet wound over her right breast. 

“Put pressure on it,” Beth insists, and the black woman does as ordered, holding clean rags over the bleeding hole. Lori gasps out, pain raking along her back. Beth begins wrapping her chest in bandages, trying to hold the rags down hard enough to stop the bleeding. 

“No…” Lori murmurs, shaking her head. “I didn’t feel…”

A deep bark booms from outside. “Boy,” the black woman snaps. “Hold this down.” 

Carl takes over, his hands trembling as he holds the rags in place. The woman draws her katana as she steps out of the RV. 

“You’re gonna be okay,” Carl sniffles as he presses down firmly. “We’re gonna get you back to Hershel.”

Lori swallows as Beth continues to wind the bandages. She tries to ignore the iron taste on the back of her tongue.

Beth has barely finished with the bandages when their savior re-enters the RV. “We need to go,” she says. “There’s a large group of infected. If we’re going to outrun them, we need to leave now.”

“My mom is hurt!” Carl snaps. 

“I can walk,” Lori pushes herself up. “Grab the guns. Carl, stay by Mouse. Follow—” She looks to the woman.

“Michonne.”

“Do as Michonne says.”

“We can’t leave Dale,” Beth protests. “I can stay behind—”

“He’s dying,” Michonne says coldly. “If you stay here you’ll die too.”

“Beth,” Lori takes the girl’s hand. “Grab a backpack, fill it with water, medicine, food. Do it now.”

Finally, the children obey. There isn’t time to store most of the weaponry from the men who attacked them, but Carl scoops up his pistol and Beth finds a revolver, then they hurriedly follow Michonne between a pair of houses. Her beast of a dog circles behind them, guarding the rear and herding them along.

They walk through a variety of backyards, jogging to try to lose the herd that was barely a stone's throw away when they fled the RV. Michonne appears to know the area; she loops through the neighborhood, guiding them back out to the main road they were travelling down originally. 

The longer they walk, the harder it gets for Lori to catch her breath. When they reach the road, she stops, bending over and coughing hard. The taste of blood is heavy in her mouth, and when she wipes her lips, red smears across the back of her hand. 

“We need to stop!” Beth calls out to the others.

“We can’t,” Michonne turns back, her gaze settling on Lori. “If we stop here, she’ll die.”

“My mom needs to stop!” Carl yells. 

“Carl,” Lori swallows down more blood. “Baby I— I’m sorry.”

“Can we find a car?” Beth suggests, eyeing a wreck up the road. “Then we won’t have to walk.”

“I’ll protect Mom,” Carl latches onto the idea. “You can find a car, and we can get back to the farm—”   
  
“Baby—” Lori doubles over, coughing hard. Beth is holding her hair back, and Lori spits blood from her mouth. Every time she swallows, she can taste it.

She tries to step forward, but the earth feels unsteady. She would have fallen if not for Beth, but the girl can’t hold her up. She guides her onto her knees.    
  
“Mom!” Carl runs to her side, kneeling next to her. “Mom, get up!” 

“Baby, I’m sorry.” She smiles through her tears, reaching up with a bloodied hand to pet Carl’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, Baby.”

“No!” Carl’s voice rises to a shriek. “No, you have to get up!”

Lori sobs. She wants to, oh God she does, but all the strength is gone from her limbs. It takes everything she has to remain sitting.

“I’ll go find a car,” Michonne offers, guiding Mouse over to their little huddle. She looks at the dog and says, “Yuri, stay.”

“No,” Lori shakes her head, reaching clumsily for the woman’s hand. “No you can’t, you can’t leave the children.”   
  
“You’ll die.” The woman points out.

Lori nods, looking her in the eyes. She turns to Beth, blinking through her tears. “Beth, I need you, I need you to do something for me.”

The blonde whimpers, covering her mouth and sobbing.

“I’m not losing my baby.” Lori’s hand comes to rest on her belly. It’s too soon, but not so soon that there’s no hope. “You’ve gotta cut me open.”

“No!” Beth recoils back, her eyes widening with horror. 

“Beth, please,” Lori sobs. “You’re the only one who can. You’ve been helping Hershel all winter.”

Mouse slumps beside them, rocking in place and pulling at her hair. Beth turns away, crying harder. 

Lori shakes her head. “Please,” she gasps, reaching for the young woman. “Please, my baby, I can’t lose my baby.”

The dog lets out a booming bark, and Michonne steps away. She and the animal move as one, the dog charging an approaching walker and taking out its legs. Michonne stabs the thing in the head with her katana, side-stepping the next walker as it comes and decapitating it with another swing.

Carl buries his face into Lori’s neck. She wraps an arm around her son, reaching her free hand for Beth’s shoulder. “Beth please,” Lori begs, her voice rising along with her desperation. “Don’t let my baby die, please.”

Mouse pauses her rocking, sitting rigid in place. She lets out a gasp, then lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy as she lays a hand over Lori’s stomach, for once looking Lori straight in the eye. Despite the terror in her gaze, her hands are perfectly steady. 

“Are you sure?” Lori asks, guilt, fear and desperation bleeding into her voice. “Sweetie, are you sure?”

Mouse nods. Lori closes her eyes, hugging Carl as tight as she can. “We need to do it now.” She decides. She can’t stand. There’s no time.

“Mom, no.” Carl whimpers, but he helps her to lay down on her back. “Mom…”

“Carl?” Lori touches his cheek, guiding his eyes to her own. “Baby, I don't want you to be scared, okay? This is what I want. This is right. Now you— you take care of your Daddy for me, all right? And your little brother or sister, you take care…”

Carl shakes his head. “You don’t have to do this.”

“You're gonna be fine…” Lori smiles shakily. “You are gonna beat this world, I know you will. You are smart, and you are strong, and you are so brave! And I love you.”

“I love you too,” Carl gasps through his tears.

Mouse pushes Lori’s shirt up in silence, tracing her fingers over the old C-Section scar. She stops, her breath quickening with the onset of panic.

“Mouse, Sweetie look at me.” Mouse does as Lori orders, her eyes shining with tears. “Deep breaths, in and out. That’s it.”

She does just so, closing her eyes and hanging her head. Her breathing slows, her fingers still tracing that old scar with the lightest of touches.

“You can do this,” Lori reassures her, stopped by another coughing fit. More blood bubbles past her lips, and she collapses exhausted back to the asphalt. “Mouse, you’re so strong, so much stronger than you know.”

She can’t catch her breath anymore, and the world around her feels distant. She grips Carl’s hand as she tells him, “Give Mouse your knife.”

He passes the blade over, crying as he does so. Her son kneels behind her, pillowing her head on his thighs.

“Carl?” Lori murmurs, gripping his trembling hand. “You gotta do what's right, baby. You promise me, you'll always do what's right. It's so easy to do the wrong thing in this world.” The tears won’t stop, falling down her cheeks in streams. “So just don't… so if it feels wrong, don't do it, all right? If it feels easy don't do it. Don't let the world spoil you. You're so good! My sweet boy! The best thing I ever did!”

Carl sobs, hunching forward. Lori pets at his hair, smearing more blood into his soft brown locks. “I love you! I love you. You're my sweet, sweet boy, I love you.”

Mouse whimpers, tears falling from her cheeks onto Lori’s bared stomach. Lori makes herself smile, reaching down to brush a finger over Mouse’s hand.

“Alright, alright, it’s alright. It’s alright…” She tries to reassure them, letting out a shaky breath and smiling at the distant sky. “Goodnight my loves.”

There is pain, radiating from beneath her belly. Lori screams, squeezing her son’s hand with all the strength left in her body. Then there is nothing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Major Character Death.  
> Attempted and Threatened Rape/Non-Con  
> Attempted Sexual Assault of an Underage Person  
> Unsafe Medical Procedures
> 
> If you need a chapter summary say so in the comments. Don't trigger yourself folks.


	18. Epilogue: Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carl grapples with his mother's death.

_ Promise me. _

Carl wakes up with a whimper, rolling onto his side and panting for breath. The room is dark and unfamiliar, the patter of rain beating against the roof. It takes him precious moments of terror to understand where he is and why, and when he does, he bites his lip to hold in the grief until the need to scream has passed. When he finally relaxes his jaw, his lip throbs, but the pain is a relief. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to sleep again, so he gets up, fishing out the flashlight from his backpack. 

When he flicks it on, it illuminates the room where they’ve bedded down. After the highway, Michonne led them to a daycare, slaughtering the walkers that were drawn to his newborn sister’s shrieks of distress. They found formula at the daycare, which soothed the baby’s hunger and allowed them to ease her into tenuous sleep. Michonne ordered them all to bunker down, leaving them her beast of a dog as a guardian while she went out to find more supplies.

_ “Where did you find him?” Beth asked as Michonne poured dog food into a pile on the floor, which the brindle-gray dog began devouring in large gulps. “He’s some sort of livestock guardian, right?” _ _   
_ _   
_ _ “I suppose,” Michonne shrugged. “Had a name-tag when he first came across me. Don’t know his breed.” _

As Carl runs his flashlight around the room, Beth stirs in her sleep. Her brow is furrowed, her eyelashes shining with the dampness of tears. He moves the flashlight away from her quickly, standing up and picking his way to the crib they set up as far from the window as possible. 

His baby sister is inside, bundled in blankets and clothing that hangs too big on her tiny stature. He reaches down, brushing his finger over her cheek. It’s warm, and she flinches away from his cold fingers. Reassured that she’s still alive and well, he withdraws, looking for the rest of his shrunken family.

Michonne is on watch, but Mouse and Yuri are missing as well. Grabbing his gun, he steps to the doorway, easing out into the hall and pushing the door shut behind him. He doesn’t have to search far, the soft sounds of crying draw him towards what used to be the TV-room.

He finds Mouse and Yuri inside, the large dog resting his head on her feet. She’s curled up, face buried into her knees and arms wrapped around the back of her head. She rocks in place, the quiet whimpers unceasing.

Anger curls in Carl’s chest, his grip on the door handle tightening. His eyes burn, and he wants to scream that she doesn’t have anything to cry about.  _ How could you? _ It wasn’t  _ her _ mom that died that afternoon.

As fast as it comes, the anger flees, leaving in its wake nothing but exhaustion. No matter how hard he blinks, his eyes keep watering. He steps into the room and pulls the door shut behind him, but Yuri is the only one to look up.

He joins them on the floor, sitting beside Mouse and laying his gun within easy reach. She doesn’t react to his presence, save for her cries becoming harsher. Carl sniffles and wipes at his eyes.

He isn’t sure how long they sit there, but eventually Mouse’s crying eases up. She uncurls, reaching out a shaking hand to pat at Yuri’s head. The dog huffs, nuzzling and licking at her fingers, before sprawling onto his side to give her access to his belly.

“How’d you do it?”    
  
She freezes when Carl speaks up. His voice is dull and tired, carrying none of the tumultuous feelings in his head. 

“You saw your mom die when you met Doctor Jenner.” Carl rests his chin on his knees, staring at the wall. He knows Mouse won’t answer, but he can’t stand the quiet any more, not when he can’t stop thinking about his mom and how they didn’t even have time to dig her a grave.

“How did you keep going?”   
  
Carl isn’t expecting Mouse to stand up. She walks over to the TV and stands in front of it for a long moment before trailing her finger across the dust on its surface.

He joins her, watching in silence as she writes. When she steps back, he stares at the words.

_ I promised my dad. _

He only realizes that he’s crying when her arms wrap around him. He hugs her back, hiding his face into her greasy curls. They smell like blood and dirt, and he can’t breathe past the knot in his throat.

But he promised. It has to be enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to thank everyone for coming with me on this wild journey. Special thanks to [walkingivy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/walkingivy/pseuds/walkingivy) without whom this story would not be half as good as it is. Book 2 should go up in a few minutes, hope to see you along for that ride!


End file.
